


How Many Roads

by kikibug13



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-30
Updated: 2010-10-30
Packaged: 2017-10-12 23:28:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/130321
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kikibug13/pseuds/kikibug13
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just widowed, Sidney Emerson finds himself raising his husband's (orphaned) daughter, learning more about trust and love than he knew there was to learn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Roads

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the first round of [novel_bigbang on LJ](http://novel_bigbang.livejournal.com).
> 
> Many thanks to kittydesade and adsartha, the amazing betas who worked with me through this, and to weaselett for the amazing [fanart](http://community.livejournal.com/themulberrybush/1029.html)!

~It all started...~

It all started with a dark and stormy night.

There were strong gusts of wind, and with the way the New England roads wound and turned, they could come from any direction. As intently as Sid was watching the curtains of rain, he should have been able to guess at least some of the time. But he didn't, and the car bucked this way and that, for moments threatening to slip out of his control. It was a strain to keep it steady on the road, and the fact that it was slippery didn't particularly help.

He didn't know why he was in such a hurry, anyway. Every time he steadied the car, from either wind or skidding on a turn, he'd just press the gas pedal again. The illumination from his lights, fuzzed by the sheets of water falling down, made the rain-darkened tree trunks rush past him like an army of silent giants trotting in the opposite direction. If he lost control, they'd grind his car and body down as surely as giants, too.

Sid was doing his best not to lose control. He thought. He shouldn't be hurrying this much. _Getting to this destination or another sooner won't change anything, now will it._

His mind shied away from that idea and its corollaries, the narrow domino-trail to the other car and yesterday morning.

He drew back to a more accustomed line of thought. Still not really successful in slowing down, but he did acknowledge fully that it was too wet to get anywhere in a hurry.

 _There's never such a rush anywhere as to try to wreck yourself_ , his own too-cheerful voice returned to him, and he shook his head.

He shouldn't be speeding this much. He wasn't _that_ urgently _expected_.

Hell.

Gritting his teeth away from _that_ thought, too, he focused on the road. On the trees. On the dull white spots of his headlights, tempered by dull gray rain and darker gray asphalt. He wasn't hurrying towards anything. He'd lost all his motivation to here anywhere. Maybe he was running away from the loss; or maybe he didn't care.

 _Rubbish_ , as one of his old teachers used to say.

Sid's hands tightened around the steering wheel, and he tilted his chin up. _Too wet to get anywhere in a hurry,_ he repeated to himself. After all, he was always telling Daniel to slow down when it was...

Another thought he'd rather not complete. Not right now. He couldn't.

Instead, his breath hissed out in the silence of the car, hurting, frustrated, confused. Hunched forward almost over the steering wheel instead of his usual slouch in the seat. Ready to smack his wide palm furiously at anything that dared to give off a surprising sound.

Alone.

The rain seemed to be only getting thicker. Maybe focusing on that would stop his mind from zooming in on the last two days. Closer looks wouldn't help, anyway.

Thicker and pattering on the windshield, on the roof, loud and arrhythmical. The sound was so very similar, he realized unexpectedly, to the sound against the window of their hotel room six months ago. It shouldn't be, because the car was moving, but it sounded alike. It was spring now; it had been fall, then, half a year ago. Almost to the day, no, it would be half a year on Friday.

And now he would have to face that day alone. All the days to come.

It hadn't been Friday, then. It had been a Monday. Their wedding night, him and Daniel. It had rained this hard, or even worse. Probably worse, as he remembered the sound as loud from a stationary room as opposed to the car driving into the damned rain.

Left. Right. Right. Left. Softer light with a bit of uphill...

It hadn't made a difference then, that it was raining. Why would it matter, when he had just married the man he loved and who loved him, when he was looking into those blue eyes, pale, almost incandescent, glowing in the dim light; when he had been making love to his _husband_ , which was kind of like all the many times they'd made love, just not quite, it hadn't been the same after they could really call each other _mine_.

It looked like he could see those eyes before him in the windshield now.

Sid hit the brakes, hard. He couldn't shake the feeling of _seeing_ Daniel's eyes, looking at him softly, gently, melted in a pool of love.

 _Something you won't see ever again._

He couldn't be driving when he thought of that. Racking sobs shook him even as his eyes fixed on the windshield, wide open and dry.

He couldn't think about that. It _hurt_ too much.

In some time, he had no idea how much, he started driving again. Slower. The momentum was last; he could barely see through the night and the rain. And even if a part of him wanted to throw safety to the wolves, he knew he'd damn well better stay alive, unlike...

Unlike Daniel.  


He hadn't even been driving. It hadn't been Daniel's fault.

 _IT DOESN'T MATTER_!

He'd be there soon, Sid thought, even if the cursed New Hampshire roads all looked the same. He shouldn't even be the one going there.

 

Lights beside the road. One house here, and then a couple of more. Sid's attention sharpened to the signs on the side of the road. Making sure the town wasn't his destination yet, he pulled up on the side of the road and took the map out of the glove department.

He tried to ignore the doodles on the inside cover, there. Done in purple, months ago, almost a year, and now going interestingly green at spots. _Ink shouldn't go this soon._

Nor should other things.

Greenfield turned out to be the next town over. Up this way, then left at _that_ intersection, then keeping to the main road until out of this town and some ways into the next. Sid dug into his pocket for the scribbled instructions, reading them a few times to make sure he'd be able to pick out the correct side roads in the dark.

Committing things to memory. Driving to instructions. Routine things he had done all of his life, before he had even known Daniel. Before any of this mess.

 _I can still do this._ He had done it, and he could do it, simple little steps. No matter that he felt as angry as the storm outside, as lost as a kitten left out to drown in the rain. he wasn't. He was an adult, he had a life and people who still depended on him, students, responsibilities. Even responsibilities to himself, and he knew for a fact that Daniel would not have taken it kindly if he ignored those.

 _But Daniel isn't--_

He flipped off the light switch with an angry slap, making his distorted reflection (almost changed enough to look like someone else) vanish from the windshield. Stepped on the gas hard enough that the car started moving with an actual screech of tires, despite the wet road. _Slow the hell down._

Shut the hell up.

The first stretch was a rather steep uphill road. He managed not to speed that hard on his way to the main street.

Ten breaths was all it took to get a least a bit of a grip on himself again. He even didn't miss the intersection he needed, the lights from houses eerie and unwelcomely hospitable in the night.

Stupid New Hampshire houses. Cozy and familiar and making him think that, should he knock on any door, he'd be invited in and fed and guested, and it wouldn't even be fake. Except, him asking for such hospitality would have been fake. It wasn't what he wanted, where he was supposed to be, nothing was how it should be at all and no friendliness would change that.

It felt good to see the homes grow sparse, then trail off altogether in roadside darkness. Himself, the rain and the wind, the trees - and the circles of light from his headlights. Last few miles on his own before he reached the poor babysitter's house and got to take charge of something his mind could barely wrap itself around. And he was wasting them. Pissed and helpless, and he couldn't even cry while he had time.

Dammit.

He realized his teeth were clenched so hard his jaw hurt and tried to relax. _It is a bad idea to show up like a thundercloud,_ he thought around his attempts to keep the car steady. It wasn't the babysitter-girl's fault in any way. Either her or her family's fault, and he shouldn't take it out on them.

 _After all, they've already had to deal with the baby with way longer than they should have._

He could imagine it, though. The tall beautiful neighbor (and he had seen her yesterday morning, she wasn't any less lovely after the birth than she had been when he first knew her) asking for a couple of hours' sitting the baby. She wouldn't have to feed her. Maybe the girl had already sat the baby and knew what she was doing. Even if Marie ran a little late, she knew what to do, right? There would be some formula in the cupboard, maybe. Provided having a child had turned Marie at least marginally more organized.

Otherwise the girl or somebody from her place would have to go buy baby milk stuff. And bottles, and so on.

Because there had suddenly been nobody to relieve her of the duty.

There had been many phone calls, Sid knew. He'd been part of a lot of them, and there must have been others. There were executives of Marie's estate, other relatives; hell, he wasn't even going to go see the house she'd been living in. The clever girl had taken the baby and her things home to her own family so she wouldn't be dealing with it alone, after it was clear what was happening.

Nobody wanted the baby. And with the legal tangle around everything, she was supposedly Sid's ward.

He had found that out after the hours of more and more frantic attempts to contact his husband and learning what had happened. And he'd been told what his obligation was, what he had to do. His fingers dug into the steering wheel again, teeth bared and dry.

 _Why_ the hell had the stupid woman gone and crashed the car? How was _he_ to deal with the results of that? All of the results, the one that he'd accepted, hoping against the possibility but accepted anyway, and the ones he'd never guessed at until days ago. It was hard enough to find that his husband had a daughter, an actual daughter conceived the usual way.

But it was so, so very much more difficult to deal with what was happening now.

He shouldn't have to. Curse her, he wasn't supposed to not have a husband. Not now, not any time soon, not ever, no, _that_ was ridiculous. One of them would have ended up going first, but not yet, god damn it. They were _young_. Not in their forties yet, they were practically newlyweds and enthusiastically so. Half a year was nowhere near enough to get used to that at all, let alone feel replete, and it was all _gone_ now.

Now that he'd hit that thought, he was stuck with it. His chest tightening and his throat burning, eyes hard and dry and locked on the treacherous road ahead.

It was _not_ supposed to have happened. It hadn't even rained yesterday. Well, not exactly when it had happened, as far as he knew.

She had just lost control.

And no, she shouldn't have. The baby that was waiting, well, no, probably she was sleeping or eating or something else that babies that age did, but the baby that he was driving towards was not supposed to not have a mother. Let alone have _both_ mother and father ripped away.

One moment's inattention. So much wrong, so much loss, his own opening up like a hole in his mind suddenly, threatening to swallow him. Even worse if he thought more about it. Like considering that Daniel may have suffered, trying to crawl across the asphalt, waiting for help - help that didn't arrive on time.

Now his eyes were burning too, if dry. His breath grated out in dry, hacking rasps underneath the rumble of the engine and the roar of the wind and occasional thunder.

 

It started with a phone-call, an absent-minded check if Daniel was _that_ Daniel from high school.

They had been curled up on the couch. It was one of those easy Saturday afternoons, half-sitting and half-lying on the couch, legs tangled. Each of them was reading his own material and making occasional remarks when something got their attention - sometimes talking through it between them or maybe just reacting and going back to the books. They could - and regularly did - just lazy-work like that for hours unless something happened to jolt them out of it.

Something did, that afternoon. The phone rang, starting Sid enough that they both laughed. Daniel reached for the receiver casually. Eyes caught in the movement, Sid watched as early-spring pale skin glowed for a careless moment against his own chocolate-colored arm. Between the thoughtless grace and the contrast, Sid just grinned as he kept on looking up from his reading to watch his boyfriend as he talked on the phone.

Daniel's expression turned odd, too, eyebrows lowering in puzzlement over the blue eyes. After a moment, recognition dawned and his lips curved up appreciatively.

Sid knew that appreciative face - he was the one getting it more than anyone else for years now. He didn't begrudge it to others. It was what they had decided, together, about their relationship, and Daniel's fingers brushing purposefully along his elbow reaffirmed that whatever the new development was, what _they_ had wasn't about to change.

The new development _did_ mean the addition of a school flame of Daniel's to their circle for three weeks or so.

Marie was tall and confident, scattered in a way that left little space for others to help or even get safely out of the way, and Sid didn't like her. Of course, there was the whole thing he had with women who were too close to him socially. But this went further in a way that he rarely felt for Daniel's casual partners.

He didn't have to like her. That was one of the good things about how they were. Had been. The pull in Sid's heart, as he was driving through the rain, tightened. They'd gone to a few meals together, spent a bit of time at their place with her around, but Sid had perfectly good excuses not to have to talk too much with her without making scenes. It was amiable all around. He got a few nights when he could stretch leisurely all alone in their big bed. And a few mornings when his partner came home to rush through a shower and change, buss Sid, and then kiss him a bit more. His mouth tasted of mint and his skin smelled of his own aftershave, and he murmured thanks for the couple of bananas he could wolf on his way to barely not being late for classes.

And then napping in the afternoon, feet in Sid's lap, top few buttons undone and collar all askew, pretty face half-turned into the couch cushion. The kind of peaceful that came from being tired, exhausted in the fun way, as well as safe and loved. Dark fingers treaded through the blond curls and dark lips spread into fond smiles.

She had blazed on away, after three weeks or so, and Daniel waved her good-bye and buried his face against the side of Sid's head with a relieved sigh. "Some people don't seem to be able to grow up, no matter how much time passes.

"They retain the charm of the very young," Sid tried to tease something good out of the complaint, but Daniel snorted.

"Not in this case. She just has too much momentum for anybody to catch up to her and try to explain things to her." Softer. "Maybe I shouldn't have met her with quite as open arms."

The half-admission made the darker man's eyebrows rise; he didn't realize how gratifying it was until his voice came out at first as a purr and he had to clear his throat to get it back to normal. "No harm done. ... I hope you won't find _me_ too placid in contrast."

"Never." Bright flash of blue eyes, and that crooked, twisted grin that was just his Daniel's own. "I have my ways to make you rather non-placid."

And he _had_ had those ways, and even the memory send a thrill through Sid's body now. He struggled for control, feeling like he was breaking apart at the edges, the sight and sound and _scent_ of the recall too vivid for him to bear right now.

Marie hadn't changed that much in the past year or so, when she called ten days ago. She didn't sound like she had, when Sid answered the phone and sentences of arrogant randomness flooded over him. For a full two minutes, he couldn't even figure out what exactly it was she wanted, but he didn't believe it a sign of anything good.

He did know that, even if she wanted it, there would be no reprise of how things had been. Things were different between him and Daniel now; the blond was his and his alone, till death do them part. Even so, he didn't expect knowing about the change would deter the woman from trying.

What it turned out to b surpassed even his worst fears.

The lesser news that came out, after Daniel had deciphered her blabber, was that one way or another, she _would_ be back in their lives. Not so casually or easy to dismiss, out of sight and out of mind, as had happened after she had left the first time.

Because of the other, heavier piece of news. The more shocking.

Neither of them could fully comprehend what she had told Daniel, not for what felt like hours. They sat on the couch. Daniel looking at Sid. Sid looking at the phone. Daniel looking at the phone. Sid looking at Daniel. Eventually, meeting each other's eyes and attempting to speak, and not quite succeeding at first.

The afternoon started fading and they found themselves moving through evening routines. Turning on the lights. Preparing food. Setting the table. Half-hearted, to be sure, too preoccupied to be mindful of what they were doing immediately. But moving all the same.

The crash of a plate startled both of them out of the murky silence.

Sid was already moving towards his husband to help clean it up when he noticed that Daniel was shaking, fists clenched. "She didn't tell me." With that, the darker man wasn't sure if the plate had been dropped or thrown. He'd not seen the blond this angry. Furious, even. "Not when she found out, not when she was carrying. Not when she gave birth. Somebody had to point it out to her, that I deserve to know. How could she..."

"Daniel..."

Blue eyes shot unexpected, chilling fire at him. Sid almost recoiled. To his relief, his husband let him take him by the shoulders and hold him, even if the smaller body was whipcord-tense in his arms. "She didn't think to tell me, Sid. The air-headed cow of a woman. Didn't. Tell me."

If he weren't quite as confused - and, truth be told, worried - about everything, he might have been relieved at _that_ description. "You said it yourself. She's air-headed. She doesn't think. It was something that happened to her and she treated it the way she did everything. Irresponsibly." The blond quivered against him. "But you know now," he hastened to add. "You know and you could make a difference."

"I couldn't change _her_."

"No... I'm afraid Marie is slightly beyond help."

That comment rewarded him with a snort. And then, even if he wouldn't have thought it possible, Daniel's motions went even tighter, tenser. Even if it was something as small a gulp. "Sid..."

He stilled, but since Daniel wasn't going on, he prompted, "yeah?"

"I'm a... a father." And his voice broke at that word, twanged like a snapped bow-string, and grated with the rest of his speech. "Elena." He needed to gather up strength after even mentioning her name. "And I don't know what to do. I didn't plan on... on it."

"I know, love." His own stomach was churning with shock and bitterness and he couldn't even _name_ what else at the thought, but they couldn't both break. Could they? "I know. It is a little... unexpected."

A beat, after which Daniel's voice sounded almost right. "You do have a gift for understatements, I've noticed."

"I try." The reply was reflexive, after years of back-and-forth. As soothing as a sigh of relief.

They moved again. Picked up the pieces of the china. Replaced the plate on the table. Even picked at the food before them, though neither had much appetite. Conversation on any other topic wasn't happening, though, and on this one neither knew what to say.

When they ended up in bed, Daniel curled in and held his head in both hands. The position was so untypically helpless that his husband reached and tugged him against him, as though he were much younger and more awkward than they'd known each other.

"Sid..." The voice was muffled against him, but clear enough. "I've a daughter. And I don't know what to do."

And even if it was his turn to feel too tight for speaking and right now he didn't feel the _we_ in this too much, he answered, "we'll figure it out, okay? We'll figure it out."

Sleep was a long time coming, that night and after.

Eventually, Daniel called Marie back, to arrange to meet their daughter. She answered that she'd call and pick him up, when she had arranged for a babysitter and all that.

She'd called. Yesterday.

But Daniel never did get to see his child.

With the turmoil that his husband had had to deal with just to reach that point, _it wasn't fair_ didn't even begin to cover it.

Worse yet, it helped not at all.

 

It had started with a party.

Not a wild, uncontrolled affair. A simple humanities professors meetings at the beginning of the semester, routine as dental check-ups. The kind that everybody goes to bored and expecting to get more bored, except for the two chronic drunks who expect there to be booze and somehow manage to get a third buddy drunk enough to listen to their student-horror stories. The kind of party where new faces for the semester or the year were introduced. Whether they were people everybody had talked about coming, or people expected because somebody had left, or even people nobody had suspected would be showing up, that was their welcome-aboard event.

That year, Sid was one of those few new faces. It was at Mt. Holyoke and he was a visiting professor for a semester, and he had already done the routine in a college in Ohio two years earlier. This time, he knew the dance. The people to talk with, what to ask, what to tell. Which names to remember and which ones he could be excused in asking the next day or the day after.

Mt. Holyoke was a good place, academically. There were times during that semester when he considered applying for a more permanent position, but it was smaller than his ambitions went, and for all that, he was somewhat isolated.

In truth, that many young women did make him uncomfortable over the long run. The discomfort was low-key and very carefully kept away from affecting his actions. But he judged it wiser to return to a more mixed student base.

Despite the predictability of the initial event for the semester, the faculty made him feel welcome and recognized, and was comprised of interesting people.

He even found himself liking one of them.

It was always hit and miss, with his preferences. He wouldn't even let himself consider the possibility until minor clues that he'd learned to recognize of the years accumulated. The way Daniel's body oriented in a group of people. The person whose shoulders he'd be comfortable throwing an arm around for pictures when his other hand was holding a glass. Whether he relaxed when hugged by a man or kept his hips away.

Rumors were, as in any academic setting, running every which way about the blond. And Sid had work to do, rather than spend his days daydreaming or fascinated by somebody to decide whether to make a move or not. Besides, something like that would be positively creepy.

But since he was leaving anyway, he did approach Daniel at the finals-over party. Which was privately hosted, rather than organized by the faculty, much smaller, and - for him - _actually_ purely social. Students were graded, references were written and sealed. His work was over.

So he asked. Casually and without any pressure to it.

Only to find out that the blond had been wondering about that possibility for months now, and yes, he was interested.

They didn't even leave together, that evening.

But later blue eyes smiled at him in the dimmed lights of the rented room, and then pouting, delicate lips brushed against his, and curiosity led to discovering just how _much_ had been pent up between the two of them over the semester.

The next three days they didn't leave the room other than to get food.

 

Sid's hand curled around the steering wheel so hard his nails dug into the skin of his palms. Even remembering _that_ was shredding him. It had been intense, and amazing, and bone-deep wearying, and he'd needed it.

He grew to know the softness of those pink lips, sweet and strong to kiss, maddeningly perfect in other places, too. The ways Daniel's body expressed things. Sexy things mostly, but also the way he twitched when too exhausted to stay awake. The angel at which his arm bent so his wrist was under his temple, if he was curled up on his own. Sid found this out when had to use the bathroom one afternoon and detoured to get a glass of water and Daniel had shifted by the time he was back. The way those blue eyes warmed up when he was asking for something, even a small thing, making him irresistible.

And Sid wanted to know more.

But he was going back further south, and Daniel probably had years' worth of contract.

He'd turned to find the blond head propped on its owner's hand, watching him. "So... when are you going away?" His voice almost sounded petulant. Sid would have mistaken it for such, had he not heard the real thing, earlier. "Home with the family for the holidays?"

Sid shook his head. "We don't exactly keep in touch. And..." He remembered looking at the calendar. "Tomorrow afternoon, as a matter of fact."

"Ah, the joys of modern life." Rose-petal lips, twisted in a half-ironic, half-real smile in the middle of golden stubble. "Familiar joys." Then he scooted to the edge of the bed, where Sid was sitting. Breathed a kiss on the back of his shoulder, then murmured in his ear. "Want some help packing? And... unpacking?"

It didn't feel like a devil tempting him, although the position was suggestive of that. It felt like a guy asking another guy if he was interested in something more than sex with him. Sid took that in for a moment, then covered his surprise by lifting his hand to wrap lightly around the self-assured arm slung across his chest. "Yeah. I think I do."

The weeks that followed were about breathtaking, and when they turned into months it got better yet. They discovered just how unimportant the distance could be when they set their minds to it - and how, in the end, they preferred to cut away the commute. And they learned about each other.

Big things and small, ones which changed how they acted around each other and ones that didn't. Likes and dislikes. The way Sid would drink his coffee and that nobody could come even close to how his partner would make it, no matter how amazing the coffee shop or otherwise. How Daniel would stick to tea whenever possible. What kinds he favored, which variety stuck around because he didn't like it at all and which one because he wanted to be sure there was some of it at any time. The way their paces matched when they walked, and the way each would backseat drive if they were in the same car. The doodles Daniel was always making, everywhere.

Like on that map.

Sid swallowed hard.

The semester had finished and Daniel had transferred. They'd settled into an easy relationship - open, as they'd decided. They fit very well together, the adjustments necessary to live together slip-slides rather than earth-shaking changes. They _complemented_ each other, strengths and weaknesses matching.

But neither of them was in any hurry to get exclusive, partly because both of them had had pretty traumatic relationships in the past. So they allowed each other to do as they pleased. And if they returned to each other after all was said and done, all the better.

Not that either of them was _too_ promiscuous. There were maybe two or three guys, in the years after that for Sid. One man and two women for Daniel, who discriminated much less. "But not," he'd clarify, flower-touch lips kissing Sid's chest, "nearly as fine company as yours." Which he would emphasize with some _thing_ he could do with his tongue and his lover would gasp and arch up against it, breath coming short and tight.

It was short and tight now, but for such a different reason.

They had held like that for years, after all. Except, not _quite_. It had developed. They had grown closer. The ways that they fit together grew into ways they were tangled together. Moved into the same place, shared routines until they became intrinsic. Grew their own circle of friends who were accepting, and better than, of how and who they were, both the relationship between them and the fact that it was open. Even, when they were at ease around them, they had moments when they'd finish each other's sentences.

They were enjoying their life together. Not one hundred percent all of it, that wasn't possible even in a relatively liberal area, there was _always_ some prejudice. But it was a good life.

Even their arguments - not fights, Sid couldn't remember them actually fighting. Or was that his memory already playing tricks on him? Was he forgetting truth about his husband so soon? But they did have academic or intellectual or what have you arguments, speculations on a common theme, whatever. They felt more like tuning in to each other than disagreeing.

Sid didn't know if Marie's blazing in and out of their lives had anything to do with the decision or she was just a coincidence. Or maybe something he did then, or didn't do, tipped Daniel's hand. But it wasn't that long after she was gone that he opened the subject of changing how they were. How they always did come back to each other, how he couldn't imagine his life without Sid in it, and the dark-skinned man recalled the way _that_ simple, clichéed statement shook him. Because he believed it, because it actually mattered to him. And because he felt the same.

Would Sid consider changing to an exclusive relationship? A _formalized_ one?

There hadn't been anything as obvious as a ring, or going down to one knee.

But there had been a heartbreakingly intense look in those blue eyes. And there were three words that had been spoken before but never quite like this.

Sid hadn't resisted the idea so much as needed to rethink things. It took him all of two minutes, old pains reevaluated against what they _had_ together to be swept away. Or maybe the question had shed light on the fact that old wounds had scabbed over and were healing while he wasn't looking, over their time together.

He gave his answer around a kiss that would have been ambiguous had words not given his affirmation. Words didn't figure into the hour or so that followed, replaced by pants and gasps and moans and moving into each other with a new, almost frenetic fervor. But words returned after that, their words. The ones they shared.

And words committed them to each other into matrimony half a year later.

Half a year ago. In the fall.

 _Raining back then, too..._

Dammit. His thoughts were going around in a circle, weren't they. Maybe it was just the rain.

Yeah. Right.

But it had been so _perfect_ , so goddamn amazing. Even when the shock came, last week. Even having to deal with those news, with the new tangle around Daniel, it hadn't driven a wedge between them. A small person neither of them expected or had prepared to decide on wanting or not. But also a small person of Daniel's flesh and blood. What should he do? Should he embrace the girl? Fight his way out of the situation? Ignore the call? Marie didn't seem all that concerned with his role in the baby's life - somebody had had to point out to her that the father should know. Daniel could simply walk out. Or he could truly be a part of her life. _Both_ of them could be a part of her life, if Marie would have it. Choices were made together, rather than tearing them apart.

 _No. But the stupid fucking bitch totaling the car and_ killing _him did._

Sid's breath wheezed out of his dry throat.

It was about this time last night when he got the stupid call from the EMT team that had been on location. That he had gone. His husband, his friend, his lover. His Daniel. Just thinking about that moment made him sick and he slowed down, just a little, trying to get a normal breath, trying not to stop and throw up in the rain, because how was he supposed to deal with that?

 

The road was easier. A little.

Greenfield came quickly enough; the side road from his instructions was labeled clearly. The glare of reflection of his headlights off the wet sign was not enough to erase the writing to his sight for a moment.

The address he was looking for was a small house with all windows on the front alight. The door that looked used (New England houses. Never using the _front_ door) was at the end of the driveway. Irritating, right now, as the umbrella wasn't doing that much against the torrents blown sideways by the wind. The yard around him was littered with things that... some of them looked like discard toys, others seemed to be implements. They'd get drenched and unusable just for being left out _tonight_ , what could these people be thinking? The rake would rust something terrible, if it wasn't already, too dark to see.

Then he was standing in front of the door, wood darkened by the downpour, and he couldn't bring himself to knock. The wind-driven rain pushed at him, this way and then that, soaking through his clothes and hair. Droplets sliding down his cheeks, though his eyes were still dry, painfully dry.

Knocking on the door would make the people inside notice he was there. They would come and open the door, let him in, make him warmer and more comfortable. Kind of.

It would make it all real.

Not the death. Daniels' body, stiff and cold, had made _that_ real. And now he dry-retched, if not enough to be sick on the soggy grass.

The child. The _baby_ , she was, what, three months old? It was one thing for her to be a distant concept. Something to be faced with his husband in the future or even, temporarily, in his husband's stead. An idea was one thing.

In there was a real little person who didn't understand it but had lost both her parents. And who was about to be taken away from people she at least was aware of (or were children that age aware of things that much?) and left to the care of strangers. Caring strangers, hopefully. But strangers, somewhere she might not have a clue about who her actual parents had been.

But more than that, it would make real something alive and lasting that his husband, who was now _gone_ , had created with somebody else. And when all he had of him were memories and dust, this baby girl existed to mock him in his solitude. Even if he never saw her after tonight. She'd be out there, somewhere.

 _Dammit, Sidney. You are being beyond pathetic. Just get the cursed thing done already._

He reached to knock when a flash of lightning made him realize there was a doorbell.

 _Idiot._

He sighed, and shifted his hand to press that, instead. In a night like this, there was a better chance for that to be heard, anyway.

 

Crossing the threshold of the babysitter's house (Olivia. Her name was Olivia, he recalled) was like stepping into a world entirely different from the storm outside. It was still loud, but that was the only similarity that he could find.

For one thing, it was very bright. After spending so long in the night rain only illuminated by his headlights, he had to blink for a little while The light from a mix of lamps _and_ candles almost blinded him for a few moments, and his face twisted in a grimace that might be taken for a dazed smile, an automatic defense mechanism activated by confusion in public. It wasn't a smile. His stomach was too much turned around with bile for that. When he could focus again, there levels to that light, colors to fill in the vision washed out in black and dark and blue and dull, gloss-less pewter. Browns and reds and tans and oranges and yellows dancing in his sight, from the walls and clothes and furniture and carpets, contrasting with rich green of house plants and silver glints of utensils and blues on paintings and decorations and the preteen boy's pirate eye-patch as he was staring up at the guest that he had clearly not expected.

And it was warm. It hadn't been cold inside the car, and he thought he hadn't spent _that_ much time outside, but he was shivering. Surrendering his umbrella didn't in any way slow the dripping he was causing. In moments he was beckoned further inside, and there was an actual _fireplace_ burning, the faint smell of fire and wood-smoke mixing with the cooking and the scent from the candles and coffee and tea, all of them made richer by the warmth. And there was a towel pressed in his hands even as he was explaining who he was and why, yes, of course they expected him, but he was cold and wet and wouldn't he sit down just a little and dry out? There were towels, for his hair and for his shoulders and would he take a change of clothes from Pietro, if they fit, while they ran his through the dryer?

Warm voices, the slightly accented English lilting melodically in his ears. Not Hispanic, as the dark, waving hair, olive skin, and almond-shaped dark eyes had made him think, reflexively, in the beginning. But the shapes were softer, a little, and so was the accent. Italian, he thought faintly as he accepted the hospitality. He rubbed the clean towel over his hair and stepped into a downstairs bathroom with the offered clothing. A trifle tight, he found out after drying his skin and donning them. Pietro was shorter and slighter than him, but the sweatpants and T-shirt would do until he could put his own slacks and shirt on.

He knew very little about babies that age, but he wasn't sure if getting Elena as wet as his shirt had been would not make her sick or something. Even if she would be going out to the social-services operated ward, he didn't want to make a baby sick. So he changed.

Sid returned to the living room, or library or a room like that, much drier and warmer, holding the dubious offering of his wet clothes out to the hostess and letting himself be led to a chair near the fire. It was a little less overwhelming, after the first wave and after taking a couple of moments to himself. He could tell faces from one another now and the words sounded more distinct. A little.

Olivia was a skinny teenager with shoulder-length hair and small hands which were steady and quick, even if all she did was offer him a cup of coffee, for the second time, perhaps. Then she perched on the armrest of the couch.

"So, you are Sid? We talked on the phone a little."

"Yes. I am... sorry that you had to deal with the girl for so long. Did you..."

He reached for his wallet, rescued from the pocket of the soggy slacks and now, along with keys and phone, sitting in his lap. The girl waved her hands. "No, no! Please don't." She crossed herself. "Miss Woodsen is gone now, it would be bad to take money for something that she asked me to do. Please."

There was a catch in her voice, and Sid let go of the damp leather, in wonder. "Okay. I..." But words were still coming slow, hard and stilted.

"She is a lovely baby, too, Elena. Little trouble to look after, especially if she knows you, and I have watched over her a couple of more times, for half an hour or so, when her mother did need to just get a breather." Olivia's words encountered no such difficulty, coming out fluid, good-natured, warm, and with their own sense and rhythm. "I picked up the phone for a while when she didn't return when she'd told me she would, yesterday; I wouldn't have, and she has my number, but she may have forgotten it, I thought. But after you told me what had happened in the evening, I couldn't stay there with the baby, now could I? And my mother worried," she smiled up at the dark-haired woman who had returned from the laundry room.

"But of course you couldn't stay there, cuore mio, and we couldn't leave the baby all alone _there_ , so she got her important things and her baby chair and she brought her in. You," her eyes jumped towards the bottom of the stairs, and he guessed they had settled the girl in one of the bedrooms on the second floor, "you are not her father, you can't be, are you?"

Sid shook his head. "No, I am not. Elena's father was in the car with Marie when ... yesterday." He swallowed, and had to make himself loosen his grip around the coffee mug. He wasn't _sure_ he could shatter the earthenware cup in his fingers, but he wasn't sure he couldn't, either, and that would be bad.

Like anything right now _wasn't_ bad.

He sighed, and clarified. "He was my husband."

There was a tiny beat as that penetrated, and then a few gasps. the two men and the older boy scowled, a little, one of them flicking his eyes to the clothes he had loaned the guest as if wondering if it was infectious or something. Sid managed not to flinch. Olivia's mother had her fists planted on her hips, while the girl herself had her eyebrows raised. She was possibly the only one (well, no, only one other than the younger boy) who wasn't expressing shock or disapproval.

Another few heartbeats and Olivia broke the silence, absolutely undisturbed by her family's reaction. "So... did he cheat on you or something?"

Sid blinked at her, and for a moment his throat tightened. Out of the side of his eye he could see that _one_ of them accepting it made it less abhorrent, but he could only focus on her words, or maybe trying to get his own out. "No," he shook his head. "It wasn't like that. It was... before we married. An open relationship kind of thing. And he... we didn't know. Until a week ago." He couldn't say anything more. Even trying to drink from his cooling coffee resulted in almost choking it back up

"It is still..." Pietro tried to opine, before his... possibly wife? Sid wasn't sure, interrupted.

"So how are we supposed to give you the child, then?"

The guest swallowed, trying to make his throat relax a bit, and sighed. "Marie's relatives want nothing to do with her. I talked with social services and such - apparently, I _am_ the guardian of the baby for the moment." He had no idea if how confused that made him showed in his voice or in his face - or if anything did, anymore. "Not that the laws are very clear, but since Daniel--" He choked at the name, then jutted his chin up, moving along. The sooner they were through this, the sooner he wouldn't have to talk anymore. "Daniel had practically recognized his daughter. That makes me Elena's stepfather."

"You're not going to be like a wicked stepmother to her, are you?"

"Marco. Go start getting ready for bed."

"But mama! It's early still and I haven't had dinner!"

"Go."

Sid waited for the boy to sulk his way up the stairs, then shrugged. "I know you only have my word on _that_ \- the rest of the story I can show documents for," he had taken them to later use at social services and such, "but I do not plan on mistreating her, or anything of the kind. In fact, I will, just now, drive her to a social services location where they are ready to receive her. Where she will be cared for by people who know how until she can be processed for adoption. I don't," he almost croaked, then made himself drink more of the coffee, "I am pretty certain I am not fit to be a parent, and it would be a bad idea to try."

There were more questions, after that. Tense, and hovering on the verge of, though not quite going into, hostile. He attempted to answer them as calmly as he could, although he truly didn't feel either calm or reasonable. But it wasn't this family's fault, none of it was, not even the suspicion with which they automatically treated him. And he was tired, too tired to fight.

After a bit, he managed to shift the conversation. Praise to their home, apparently, did the the job for him. He could see why, too - the house was full, but also well cared-for, clean and warm and welcoming. An actual _home_ , rather than a residence or just a place to live; the words that he chose weren't any stretch of the truth, but they managed to get the family, at least, to relax, stepping away from things they were uncertain about. Maybe a little afraid of.

He still got a few odd looks now and again, even when they started going around to show him the rest of the interior, but they were few and far between.

And not one of them came from Olivia.

However, she was the one who opened one of the doors on the second floor. "This is my room," she said. It wasn't exactly an explanation.

The crib inside was, though.

His eyes widened, and he hesitated a long moment before daring to step into the room.

Sid's gaze flickered to the tiny bed only to see that the baby was sleeping, then he spent much more time looking around the room. Which was currently only lit by a shaded lamp in one corner, but he could see how it could become brighter, light fixtures on the ceiling and lights on the bedside table and the other three corners all free of dust and ready. It fit well with the heaps of books on the few shelves, two chairs, half the bed, and some of the floor; the small laptop closed and dark and silent on the small desk.

Any surface _not_ covered in books, however, was covered in baby things.

The rest of the family who had joined them in showing off the house had dispersed from behind them, all save Olivia's mother who was leaning over the crib. He wasn't looking at them. Maybe she was arranging the baby's blanket or something.

Sid took a breath, and his voice sounded alien to him. "So many things for such a... little person." She couldn't be not-little, to fit in that tiny bed.

The teenager's eyes seemed to glimmer in the muted light. "You really have no clue about any of this, right?"

"Right."

Pale teeth flashed in a tolerant smile. "She does need all of this, actually. And more, her food things are downstairs in the kitchen, all sterilized for the next feeding." Her English was normal schoolgirl or student English, almost, only faintly laced with the softer accent that the family's speech was permeated with.

"All of this?"

"Yes." Dark eyes flickered between him and the crib, then she shook her head and shrugged. "You might not need to know, or you might be asked to explain at wherever you take her... So let's run you through this all."

And she did. Carefully and patiently explaining, from diapers and how often she needed them changed and what kind they got her, to different kinds of creams and ointments and wipes, the basin for washing her and the baby soap for _that_ , toys and what she seemed likely to be outgrowing and what she seemed to be growing into, little syrups for colics and baby paracetamol and what not. A rather-too-thick, to his eyes, book on babies that seemed worn and spattered with stains of various shapes and colors. Clothes. The baby chair, and he paid more attention to that since he was going to be putting that up on his front seat to drive the child away from here.

Systematically explaining how to pull apart and then put back together the crib, since it was hers and wherever he was taking her, he might as well donate the thing, as well. Which part of the construction - the crib, that was - might give him problems, and how to get around that, at least how Pietro had gone around that.

And a little lecture on the food stuffs, her mother finally breaking her half-wary silence to join for that, their words mingling and going over one another's as though he was going to be doing any of that.

But it helped him delay what he didn't want to do, and so he listened, or tried to, confusing as the whole set of instructions turned out to be.

All up until there was another voice joining them, a slight confused coo from the cot, and another one, somewhat more awake.

Mother and daughter fell quiet, and he swallowed between their expecting looks. Closed his eyes for a moment, then peered over the edge of the crib at the tiny, now-awake girl.

Elena didn't look as awake as she sounded, truth be told. Her eyes were closed, head turned sideways on the pillow. Okay, head moving around a little, short flaxen curls, he could see clearly as more lamps were switched on, bright and shiny against the soft color of the bedding. He was possibly expecting the kind of odd skin tone that newborn babies always had, but, well. She wasn't a newborn, was she.

"Do you..." His voice was strangled, as something about the girl had kind of stolen his breath away. "When was she actually born? Her birthday, I mean. How old..."

"February twelfth. She was a little early, I think." Olivia shrugged. "I'd have taken the birth certificate or whatever, but I didn't think it would be a very smart idea to go digging into Miss Woodsen's paperwork. Even though you might need it..."

Sid looked up at her and the spell, whatever it was, that the baby had cast upon him broke for a moment. "That's alright. I'm pretty sure when Marie's people get to comb through the house or whatever they do, they'll be glad enough to get rid of it... I mean, they'll forward it to me. And I'll send it where it'll be needed, in turn." A beat. "February twelfth? Her father was," and there he went again, throat constricted like it had the right to be, "March twelfth," he managed to finish.

Eyes down again, out of reflex to avoid anybody's looks, but right now that only meant that he was looking at the baby girl again.

She looked so...

 _Familiar._

He could not deny it, and the admission made not only throat but his entire _chest_ tighten.

Her skin was the same color as Daniel's had usually been when waking up. The curls just a shade darker, but glossing in the light in the same way. Baby baldness recovery made even the shape of her hairline similar to her father's already receding one. The pouting lips held, he imagined, the same expression as any baby's - and were just as rose-petal pink and had the curve like Daniel's.

It made Sid think of the times when they'd been silly and compared their faces or features or whatever. Milky skin to chocolate. The way they were both curly, but the blond's hair was softer and looser and more obedient, while the black hair clumped tight and strong when he let it grow long enough to be seen. Rosy lips curved down unless he was actually smiling (which he had done a lot, at least while Sid knew him) to almost-brown, lower lip thicker and prominent, upper one curving above it.

The same, exact same contrasts. In somebody so tiny.

It would have torn at his heart when he first saw her anyway.

Without her father to buffer any of that, the sight broke it instead.

Then she gurgled again, the sound very different, for some reason, when he was watching her. Maybe for the way the toothless mouth curled open, or the closed lids shut tighter, the resemblance in the face scrunched away in an instant.

And the next moment, she opened her eyes. And their blue was so precisely like Daniel's that Sid had to grit his teeth and make himself breathe. He was reaching down towards those familiar-unfamiliar eyes without consciously thinking about it.

She goo-gooed. It sounded different from any sound he was expecting, but not enough so to make him flinch back. Daniel had let out sounds like that when he was too relaxed to be coherent, blissing out on the verge of falling asleep. Not quite so quiet or dainty, true, but still, similar enough.

Then she reached one tiny hand up and wrapped it around just one of Sid's fingers, the baby skin soft and warm against his. And held on tight.

He couldn't have put it in words if he'd tried but it felt like the shards of his heart, sharp and bleeding, fell into the small tender hand, and the miniature, perfect fingers closed around them, holding all of them securely and gently.

And safe.

He never remembered how he found a way to sit down by the cot without letting go, or being let go.

There were words, he realized. Some of which were even his. Did he need to go take her away, now that she was awake? He was reminded that his clothes were still in the drier, he had some time. He could stay up here with the baby, they'd prepare her food now and everything, or he could go back down to sit in front of the fireplace.

He _should_ have opted for the latter. He would have, even with the reaction to his statement of him being the widower of the _father_ of the baby who was currently, temporarily and unasked-for, their charge. There were men, downstairs, and the older boy who had been quiet, rather than staying up here in all-feminine company.

But he stayed, rooted in the seat by the cot. Not even able to pull his hand away, well, not until he had to, and he was aware that he would have to so that Elena could be fed. Eventually.

For now, he could just wonder. He had good reasons to mistrust women, god damn it. Stretching back and back and reiterated every single time he tried. There was absolutely no reason for him to ever feel the way he did with the little girl-child in front of him.

 _Focus on the memories. Stick to what you know, stick to what you planned. Keep on moving._

That was the plan.

 

They were fourteen. Her name was Moireen. Her skin was paler than his but still dark enough so that they seemed a very good matched pair. Her parents let her put highlights in her hair and she stuck with something that wasn't screaming but definitely caught attention - auburn against black was plenty enough. She wore clothes that were not so challenging as to make everybody consider her 'easy' yet not boring or plain so as to be ignored.

He was just himself. Not running in the most popular crowd, but not a part of the outsiders, either. Enough extra-curricular activities and friends to be having fun, not enough to switch into the set of students who were always vying for attention or fame or status or he didn't even know what. One of the hip crowd, not one of the attention queens' sycophants. Or so he thought. They were new to high school, after all, and were still kind of figuring it out.

And they had classes together and got along, and she was cool and he was okay, and they ended up eying each other across classrooms and then sending each other notes and playing around the fringes of groups of common friends. Sideways glances. A word or two quieter than the rest of anybody would hear, a quiet bump against each other as they walked outside the door. It was fun to have her attention, not to mention that those warm big eyes seemed to make his breath catch when she lowered her lashes _like that_ , and then licked her lips.

Sex ed said they were too young.

Their bodies were obviously saying, screw that.

Well, not at first. At the beginning, it was just the attention. Having fun together, too, but they each had fun with others, while with her it was decidedly teasing, keeping each other on their toes. And while he didn't fully know what he was expected to have or feel or whatever, all the poking and pulling and tugging and the smiles that almost glowed in the mid-day room built a kind of anticipation in the pit of his belly.

And yes, he did punch John Eyton when he pushed her and then pulled at her hair enough to make tears come to her eyes. The whole thing made him too angry not to. She tucked her chin at the crook between his neck and shoulder, after. And when he walked her to her home after their playing in the street that evening, she leaned and pecked his lips and then grinned, before twirling to run up the porch and inside the door of her parents' house.

Weeks stretched into months of this. They were ducking behind trees so that nobody's mom would see them kissing, or trying to. (It was awkward. And yet it was also exciting. Was it supposed to be either? They had nobody whom to ask, but everybody seemed to be doing it, and it wasn't _bad_ , per se, either.) Hands were slipping up under t-shirts and skirt hems until one night her parents were out of town and he excused himself from dinner with the excuse of having a test on the next day and needing to go at her place to study. His father paid no attention to what he said, anyway, and his mother didn't ask which house that was or how late he would be. Whatever. He'd braved getting a box of condoms from the store when he'd been sent for groceries on his own, weeks ago - he'd figured if they asked him, he could say a friend had talked him into getting them for him. So they were going to have fun, finally.

She wanted to. Actually, she'd been excited about having a chance to experiment.

Except it didn't work. He didn't know why or how; he knew how things were supposed to look, um, down on him, and it was just halfway getting there. One day later, he'd figure most likely, not _as_ attracted as his fourteen-years-old self imagined, and nervous as hell, to boot. And she tried. She tried stuff that they'd seen in movies and read in books passed under the desks so that teachers didn't find out they had them, but those didn't help, either. He flopped, small and soft, and that was embarrassing, all right?

But it was what _she_ did that hurt. She'd started laughing, a little at first, and then worse and worse. It was a malicious laugh and a sharpness in her eyes that he'd never known directed at him before. Laughed hard, and mocked him that he couldn't. That he was all face and nothing between the legs, he had somebody willing to be with him and couldn't manage it. Tossed his clothes at him and dressed, red-touched dark curls tossing mercilessly.

He didn't even try to explain about that, when he got home.

Nobody asked, anyway.

If he had any thoughts that the next day at school they'd figure things out? He was wrong. It was, in fact, infinitely worse.

She acted as though he didn't exist.

After months and months of _every_ body knowing about the thing between them? Within two period breaks, it felt like all the school - or, at least, everybody he knew at school - learned that they'd... fought? Broken up? How could he know what they were when she wouldn't even talk with him?!

It didn't matter. It was painfully obvious that whatever they had was broken and she wasn't interested in trying to mend it. Rather, maybe trying to break _him_ more.

The fact that he truly didn't get why it didn't work, why he didn't find it as attractive from hands-on perspective? Wasn't helping in the least. By lunch break, he was wandering about the hallways, woolgathering and wondering and clueless, in disgrace, and almost blinded with all of that.

When something happened, it came completely out of the blue; for the first moments, he didn't know what was going on, let alone thinking of what to do about it.

Somebody was there, a little larger than him, insistently moving into him until Sid's back was pressed against the lockers, and then...

... kissing him.

In a way that had nothing to do with the awkward, hesitant kisses he and Moireen had shared. It was deep, sudden, and a little hard. Mouth hot against his, demanding, tasting of chewing gum and something else that he couldn't put words to.

He was kissing back before he registered the differences. It was breath-stealingly good.

Then his eyes snapped open, startled. It didn't take more than one surprised blink to recognize who it was. Paco Rodriguez, the name attached to the smoldering brown eyes so close to his and to the handsome, characteristic face. Sid hadn't been in high school for _that_ long - it was his first year, after all - and he didn't know much more than the name and that he always had a crowd, all juniors like him, and that was it, but god was he _hot_.

And, even more confusing and almost frightening, the strength of the Latino's arms around him and the insistence of his kiss and the pressure of his firm, smooth chest were turning him on. _Really_ turning him on, hard-on making his jeans chafe, more than the soft curves of Moireen had managed to.

He stood there, pressed against the lockers, eyes flicking to either side, noting that the hallway was, surprisingly and blessedly, actually deserted, and tried not to pant against the olive skin.

"Sorry." The voice was almost gentle, surprising after the assertiveness of the kiss. Or their mutual position, for that matter. "Didn't really mean to force it on you, but you were looking so..." Slight shrug, and some of the pressure against him let up as the older boy leaned back, weight on his heels, even though his hands remained on each side of Sid. "Adorable, actually. Damn adorable, just walking around looking down like that, couldn't resist." The smile was apologetic and soft, despite how Rodriguez had him somewhat trapped, and exceedingly aware of all the ways they were still touching.

The dark-skinned freshman wasn't, to his own surprise, trying to get away. "R-really?"

Bushy eyebrows arched slightly. "Yeah. I mean, in the morning somebody joked that somebody should give you that to finish discomfiting, and I thought that was an idea... for different reasons than he meant it. You all right?"

"I... don't know, actually. D-definitely wasn't." He never stuttered, or he hadn't known himself to. It was weird, but his thoughts seemed to be tripping over each other and the words were stumbling at best. "Is it..." _Is it always like this?_ He wasn't even sure how to think of the surge rushing through him, except, damn. "You... are into boys?" And he definitely didn't squeak while talking. Like he just had.

Uneven but clear teeth flashed in a surprisingly charming smile. "Figures that I am, doesn't it? If this was to mock you, there'd have been audience."

Swallow, nod. Swallow. "So, um... are you... seeing anybody?"

That rewarded him with a surprised, low, amused laugh, and the hand, a little calloused, that used to be pressed to the left of his head was now holding the side of his face. No, not holding. Caressing. _Yes, please..._ "Oh, I like you. You interested?"

"I... um." Awkward pause, stretching, before he blabbered. "Yes. I mean, seeing as I'm not seeing who I used to be anymore and this is confusing but..." He swallowed yet again, a reaction to eyebrows raised again on the older boy's face, and he could feel his cheeks heating, never mind that his skin color didn't exactly showcase blushes.

Then blood roared in his ears when the taller body pressed against his again. Not hurting, but firmly against him. "Confusing and," liptwtich, " exciting?"

"Yeah." Strangled. God. "Is it always like that?" He blurted.

"How about we find out?"

"You mean..."

Shrug. "If you want to."

"I... think so."

There were details, of course. Who knew, how it should be discrete. Hanging out with his crowd, inconspicuously - that wasn't _as_ hard as he would have imagined, actually, not when he was invited in. Actually, spending the time with the older boys managed to get people to forget that he was in girl-disgrace and earn him new cool points. Not that he wasn't too distracted to pay that too much heed. Talking. Just randomly getting to know Paco, and that was fun.

Other talks, when they were more or less alone. Walking around the streets in the chill dusk and then chiller darkness. Kisses that made their breaths steam together and dark eyes bright. Exploration, a bit too hurried to be comfortable and yet not enough so as to stop being hot. Or wanted.

Almost never at school, at that.

Except, that was still once too often.

It was Moireen, again. The fact that her disdain hadn't brought him down had piqued her interest and he was aware of that, but didn't know what to do about it.

He hadn't counted on her following him, though.

When her laughter rang, a hundred times sharper than before, his hand was halfway up Paco's thigh, and the older boy's tongue was making a fair bid at finding his tonsils, and both of them choked, blinking at the unwelcome viewer. In the hours that followed, they more than blinked, her scathing words seeming to expose them to the attention of everybody.

 _Shit._

And girls flocked to her 'banner'. Not _one_ of them showed any compassion to him, which was the problematic end of things because Paco dealt with his; the best he could hope for was indifference.

The rest laughed with her, and laughed till he was hurting, too.

It was pretty easy to figure this one out. A no-brainer. Obviously he was attracted to guys. Obviously, also, girls were ... not nice to him. Like, hurting.

And nobody on his right mind opted for things that hurt him. Right?

Him and Paco fooled around, off and on again. Spring vacation meant time away, and after it Paco had hooked up with a senior that he'd apparently liked for a while, which was cool. They drifted around each other during the next year, and then the Latino graduated, too. But good lessons had been learned, and the momentum took him places that weren't always _comfortable_ but did usually feel good. Well, not at the same time. As a rule.

It took a very long time to get close with a woman, again. Not sexually close; having found out where his preferences lay, it got easier to realize that he just wasn't interested. Sometimes, he was visually appreciative. His beyond-purely-aesthetic reactions were decisive in pointing the other way.

No, Eileen was a friend. They were together in grad school; she wasn't training for a _professor_ , but they had common subjects enough. It was halfway through their last year when they started hanging around more. She was all-around kind; for the year and a half preceding, he didn't think he had heard her mock anybody once. That helped. Quiet and gentle and attentive. She did prefer men, but that was somehow never an issue, there were none of the awkward advance-that-he-had-to-shoot-down situations with her. Just friendship.

She listened and questioned in a soft, non-judgmental voice, and gave advice that seemed sound. It was the time when his plans were coming together. He'd worked through grad school despite the scholarship; he planned to take that money and have a good start at his professional life. Planned on where he would be teaching, where he would be living. How he would not spend _all_ his time as a professor, but some would be dedicated to research, visiting locations that he considered underestimated this far and himself gathering primary information that would hopefully turn important or interesting. Where in particular he would travel to. Long easy evenings, more and more often out on the porch as spring chased the frost away. Evenings when neither of them had a date, or had something important in the morning and they couldn't go out and party or when they didn't have any strength left to study and were too wound up to sleep still.

Chilling.

He considered her a good friend.

Until the morning, three weeks after the end of the year, when he tried to call her and she wouldn't answer, and her landlady informed him tartly that she had left without paying her rent for the last month. That worried him, somewhat.

He didn't find her note until after the discovering that his savings were gone, every last penny of them. The deposited parts withdrawn by a slight soft-spoken blonde who had all the necessary documentation to complete the withdrawals. He couldn't even remember where she might have things like his signature for paperwork or whatever from.

After he saw her message, the words burned too hard for him to try to figure it out.

 _You are a loser_ , the slip said above the familiar curves of her name, all in a careful, feminine, beautiful hand.

Try as he might, he couldn't come up with a reason for even attempting to trust women, after that. Maybe he was wrong about that. Maybe two, or a few, or even many women hurting him, without remorse and from a place in his life where they could cause much damage should not have turned him to such complete discomfort with them in general.

But it was easier to trust the sex he loved, anyway. He was correct in his dealings with women, and was as good a teacher as he could be, indiscriminately. And he left it at that. It should be enough, shouldn't it?

 

Years, that was the way his mind and maybe heart had been for years and years, and he'd not even considered that it could or should change.

He certainly hadn't expected anything here, tonight, to make a difference. He'd been, _was_ , too battered, exhausted, grieved for anything to touch him. And yet--

The baby girl reached up, chubby little fingers letting go of his only to tap against the dark skin above his wrist, and he fidgeted and looked up. The older woman had bustled downstairs to get food ready; Olivia was sitting at her desk, face tinted by the faint blue glow of the laptop screen. He cleared his throat and she smiled at him. "Can I... _may_ I. Pick her up?"

"Of course. I mean, you're going to be taking her..." She trailed off as he didn't move to follow up on his question, then gave the quiet snort that the conclusion merited and unfolded from the desk chair where she'd propped her foot up. She stepped closer, leaning over the crib to pick the baby up and then settle her in his arms with a few words to make sure he was holding Elena steady.

The tiny fingers curled in his hair one moment, then the next tickled his neck and he blinked to stop himself from shivering.

And the little girl smiled at him.

It couldn't change the past, or what had happened; it couldn't make him forget or hurt less than it always had. Well, since it had happened.

But, ridiculous as it might seem, considering how tiny she was, he felt like it was her who was raising him up and wasn't letting him go.

And maybe, just maybe, she never _would_.

 

Elena didn't make too much noise for a while. A few gurgles, a few goo-goos. Until she did get hungry, apparently, and then she became fussier. Until she was given what she needed, with which she settled again. Sid watched, half absentmindedly. Not really observing the exact proceedings, except that his attention was hitched to the little girl, marveling at how it all made him feel somewhat overwhelming.

The baby's need for care did account for a flurry of activity and little peace for the rest of his visit; there was feeding the girl, then changing her. Then wrapping her up in clothes fit for traveling, and repacking her things up for delivery at the facility where she would be staying until somebody claimed her as their own. So many things; even after Olivia's explanation, Sid still found them too many.

But he had a large trunk. It would all fit well enough.

The rain, at least, had abated somewhat. It meant the umbrella was decent for his, anyone's, clothes not getting completely drenched as they packed the baby stuff safely in his car. Maybe there would be an underground parking or something at the - he made himself dust it off in his memory - the office of the Department of Health and Human Services in Nashua, the largest city that was closest. Or maybe the rain would have stopped. Although even attempting to hope for something as simple as that made him aware of the dark tide waiting to fall on him.

Anyway, maybe then he'd have people helping out to unload, too, late evening and everything.

What he hadn't expected, considering how peaceful a child she was, were the wails and tears as soon as Olivia carried her charge outside. The baby chair was affixed to the passenger seat already, all safe and appropriate. The question if Marie had driven her daughter around in the car popped up in Sid's mind and he shuddered as he realized where it had come from, the loss washing over him again. He focused on the teenager only bringing the blanket-wrapped bundle. Except, it couldn't be that easy.

"She doesn't like the cold, I think," Olivia ventured, seeing the widened eyes of the self-styled stepfather.

"Right. I'll put up the heating in the car."

"That should help." She grinned up at him despite the baby's tears, let him hold the umbrella over the two, well, three of them settling the girl securely in the chair, and explained to him what she was doing. In case he needed to secure her on the road, etc.

He hoped he didn't have to. There were delays enough already. He wanted to leave the baby in professional arms, finish the paperwork they presented him with, and get home, alone.

Maybe then he'd get a chance to grieve.

He wasn't sure if the way he was looking at the wailing, flailing girl-child was more unhappy with the fact that she wasn't quiet anymore or concern if she was all right. _How do you figure out something like that anyway?_

The good-byes with Olivia's family didn't take long, even if awkward was clearly the flavor of the day.

"Are you sure it is where she should go? You aren't going to deliver her to uncaring strangers who don't even, aren't even supposed to have her?" Pietro's wife asked. _Carla-Maria. She has a name,_ professor _Emerson._

"Yes. I triple-checked." Which was a sign of how nervous he was. He didn't usually fret that much about details. Pay attention to, yes. Fret, not so much.

There was nobody to notice that it was a sign, though. Not anymore.

He gritted his teeth and settled behind the wheel, fingers slapping the A/C control to put up the heat. That's what he'd had to do, right? Oh, right, so maybe the girl would stop crying.

Which she didn't seem inclined to doing.

Hell, he had not the first idea how to calm a child. While he was driving and she was tied up, sorry, secured to her baby chair, that just felt like an impossible mission.

He hated those. He hated the sound of it, too, helpless crying, wails and sobs. The sounds meaning to him, at least he imagined so, somebody very unhappy and helpless, unable to communicate _what_ was wrong.

Good god, that was so, so fucking irritating--

 _She is a baby, Sidney. A very tiny, uncomprehending baby. Yelling at her is a bad idea, don't do it._

And he didn't.

What he did do was start to mutter, under his breath at first but then enough to comfortably, deeply fill up the car. No words in particular. Rattling off the reasons why this was so wrong. How she wouldn't stop crying and he wouldn't start. So wrong. And even more wrong for her to have lost her father, him to have lost his husband. Why did it have to happen?

On and on, a litany of complaints verbalized or as little coherent as tiny little growls, his awareness only checking the stream of it for volume and swear words. His attention not on it, not fully aware what exactly the words he was saying _were_. Not that it mattered.

Did it?

Talking to himself was a bad sign anyway.

He didn't know how long he did it for, too, when he realized that all the rest of the noise inside the car had gone silent. The car itself, and the occasional whines of the wind and the putter-patter of the rain on the roof and windows were still there. But the crying had tapered off at some point. He hadn't even registered.

It shut him up, for a moment; he hadn't expected that. He made sure the stretch of road was straight and his hands on the wheels were steady before he looked sideways at the passenger seat. The baby's face was scrunching up again, maybe she was about to get back to it?

"What, are you warm enough and then right after, not warm enough?" That got her face to smooth out again, little arms flailing a little under the warm-looking cover. "Aren't little girls your age supposed to sleep a lot, anyway?"

Okay, he thought as his eyes returned to the road. She seemed to prefer it when he was talking, or something like that. "Like the sound of my voice, do you? Sorry, Elena. Won't really be hearing it much longer." Another glance sideways showed him that she was staying calm, eyes focused on him.

His lips pursed. That was unsettling for some reason.

As he quieted, she looked away. Turning her head forward as though she was looking ahead through the windshield, except there wasn't much to see, only the road and the rain and the dark. She was a baby, for chrissake, could she even _see_ above the dashboard?

He was having trouble breathing, anyway. Because that little turn of the head, looking at him and then looking forward. Over the years, he'd seen it so very _many_ times. Daniel was, dammit, had been so easy about letting him drive, even with the running commentary. Everything with him had been so easy, there was agreement and, fuck, none too much of this backseat driving business, just riding together in the car. Okay, maybe some teasing, and conversation which Elena was a little short on, but that gesture - his husband. Was never going to be there in the backseat. Ever again. It had been his place, it was why there were his doodles on the map, it was--

She gurgled, riveting his eyes again just for a moment. Enough to see her kind of smile, see her wiggle her arms out of the blanket and wave them about before making himself focus on the road again.

Except this time he wasn't paying attention to where he was going. Just staying on the road, steady, against the leaden sheet of rain and the slippery asphalt.

He hadn't quite registered, until just now. All he had at home were things. They were used and discarded, just... stuff. In days, or weeks, or maybe even years, the last traces of Daniel ever having used them would be gone, vanished in the air. In fact, all he had was...  


His thumb fingered his wedding band. Silent and lifeless.

  
... nothing.

Except for this baby girl. Who wasn't him, and never would be. Even emotionally shaken as he was, he had no illusions on that count.

But it hit him in a way it never had in the days before since they learned about her existence, nor in the hour or two since he met _her_.

Elena was flesh of Daniel's flesh. Blood of his blood. She shared so much with the man Sid loved enough to have been ready to throw his life away - both literally and in principles - should the blond have asked it of him, something that would never go away, not as long as she lived.

It hit him that she was, and would remain, all that Sid had _left_ of his husband.

His hands were shaking again and he swallowed. Then looked around to make sure the road was clear and made a full U-turn, in the middle of the wet, slippery road. He remembered there was an intersection with a sign with a name of a town that was close to his campus. Close to home.

That's where this road was taking him, he decided, as much as he was rational enough for _decisions_. It was taking him, her, it was taking them both home.

One hand fumbled for his phone. By some miracle, he'd not forgotten either it or his wallet at the babysitter's house. He'd call... Sands? Sanders? Whatever the name of the woman was that he'd talked with in Nashua. She should go home, too. To whatever home she had. Maybe somebody; she shouldn't wait for him tonight, anyway. He had to ask about what needed to be done to adopt the child, too. All of it.

He had failed taking care of Daniel. He wouldn't do it again.

A motion out of the corner of his eye; the baby was waving her arm in his direction. He caught his breath, then dropped the phone on the dashboard.

He'd call when they arrived home. Because talking and driving in the stupid rain was a bad idea. Especially with how Elena's parents had--

Driving and talking was a bad idea.

Deciding that made way for the other thought to float up to his awareness, fully, scathingly.

 _I was about to just let her, let_ him _go. Just like that._

But he wasn't going to. No, he wasn't.

 

Sid found that the radio or his music worked almost as well in keeping Elena pacified as him actually talking. Or some of the music. That was good, since trying to come up with words to say, even if they weren't supposed to make sense, had gotten difficult.

It was good, at least, that he hadn't imagined that intersection. Left turn; one of the few positive things about driving in such crappy weather was that he was practically alone on the road. No traffic to wait out or anything.

Looking around made him catch a look as Elena goo-gooed. Looking sideways at him made his heart twist again, because he could almost _see_ Daniel turn his way, blue eyes falling on him, and give him that twisted grin.

 _That_ twisted grin.

Because it did, in fact, begin with a smile. A grin, lopsided and quirky.

He and Daniel never even talked, at that first faculty party at Mt. Holyoke. It was busy enough, they were different departments, and Sid had needed to talk with too many people to get around to the blond. He was supposed to be _introduced_ there, but after a brief naming that the deans made of the newcomers, he was left to his own devices. He'd had to drift among the professors - and other guests, few as they were - to find out who _precisely_ the people he had to talk with were.

Basically, he was distracted.

It was then that the slim man turned away from his conversation, randomly and not because of him at all, just as he was finally doing what he knew he needed to do. The blond had been making his company laugh, and none of them acted surprised. He was probably the heart of this or any company; there was that kind of self-assurance in his body language.

But the blue eyes had focused on Sid, across half the room, and he'd grinned that way, twisted but sincere - and intriguing. And even if he hadn't know his name at the time and he hadn't gotten around to learning it by the end of the party, for some reason it was all right.

While he'd never even told it to Daniel, he never could get enough of that grin. Of course, asking for it would be the same, so he didn't. Just...

Dammit.

It could always take awkwardness and nervous-inducing shit away. Make things better.

Like this baby's thoughtless version made it somehow, through the thick fog of loss, feel all right, or at least better. Like deep down, somewhere and somehow that he couldn't explain it, underneath and through the grief and the anger, something slid into its right place.

And angry he still was. Burning, stinging anger that gave an edge to everything, didn't let him feel _sad_ , even if he missed Daniel with every breath. and more at times. Angry at Marie, for not telling them before that, for crashing that car. For being batshit crazy, for her whole _family_ being like that. Hell, not one of them had gone to identify her body, nor were they planning to. He'd talked to some of them, her much older sister somewhere in Oregon or Oklahoma and the step-cousin or whatever the guy from South Caroline actually was. Neither of them had sounded any saner than Marie herself, at least to his irritable, oversensitive - particularly since last night - ear.

Angry at Daniel, too. For not taking his own car. Or, or, something. For having the fucking fling with the crazy woman in the first place.

And now, this, this realization or feeling or whatever. How could something feel _right_ about this, in the middle of this? He hated it, how little power he had to do anything about it.

But at the same time, he kind of loved it, too. The little tiny safe haven that he had because of it, where all the things that were all _wrong_ just faded, a little bit.

Because of a ... a baby.

That nobody else wanted.

 _Damn it._

No, _he_ would get them home safely. He'd better, and, at that, before he actually started crying. Because when the anger was faced or maybe sidestepped a little, the tears were finally there. But he couldn't cry while driving. One accident was already way, way too much.

In the end, he had to pull over and curl against the steering wheel and weep until Elena was crying again, too, and he wasn't sure if he could get her back into her chair if he took her to hold her for a little bit, so he didn't.

Instead, he swallowed the rest of the tears as best as he could, and, voice and hands shaky, drove them the rest of the way.

Her food was probably not up to the usual standards and he did his best to keep tears out of it. She didn't fuss with it too much. Maybe it wasn't the worst make that she'd had to drink.

 _Only good or nothing for the dead, Sid._

Nothing, then.

 

~And then...~

Impulsive decisions, Sid thought as he pressed the disconnect button and bumped his forehead against the phone receiver, were _always_ complicated.

Even with his practically nonexistent knowledge of little children, he was aware that Elena was very much _not_ a fussy baby. He had barely had time (while he _had_ had much need) to leaf through the single book he had, but even only the blurb he had read about colics had him wide-eyed and looking at the child apprehensively. Fortunately, she seemed to be over them. Or maybe the slinky looking formula thing helped. He didn't know.

At any rate, he had no idea how he would have dealt in case she had them. He was barely managing as was.

There was feeding. Which required much more than boiling and preparing the milk, of course. All the utensils had to be sterilized first. Then prepping the formula. Then feeding, making sure that she'd drunk enough. Then holding her up to burp; it made him think of Olivia's mother doing that and scolding her husband over something. It had seemed so natural on her, and he felt... well, all his attention was on the child. He couldn't imagine himself doing anything else. Then there was washing up after the whole preparation and it all had to start all over again soon enough.

For all that his fingers felt large and awkward with the bottles and everything? That was _nothing_ to trying to figure out disposable diapers.

The instructions on the box of them were entirely insufficient. If he had any energy - or, in fact, sense of humor, between permeating grief and worrying about not making some mistake with the baby - left, he would have laughed at himself. A college professor with two degrees and working towards a third one, having problems figuring something that a sixteen-year-old had been doing off-handedly. Instead he just gritted his teeth and tried not to stick the sticky part to the baby's skin.

It had been a long night and an even longer morning.

And then there was the call about formalities that he thought was going to be easy and quick.

It wasn't.

Apparently, failure to deliver her to the responsible organization, preferably the Department of Health and Human Services in New Hampshire or, possibly, the Department of Children and Families in his state of residence of Massachusetts, had been a bad choice. Ms. Sands had been understanding of his not wanting to deprive the child of a home of _her_ own. Others in the administration were less so.

The judge in charge that he had to talk to was even less happy about that. Sid's claim that none of Marie's family even wanted her and that Daniel's parents hadn't talked with him in three years mollified him.

Somewhat.

Sid would get an inspection to verify that the child was taken care of well before he was allowed to keep her until the hearing, though. And that only for state frugality in a time of recession, otherwise he would have been required to give her up, anyway.

Stupid rules.

Stupid boiling water... oh, right. The formula. Fuck.

Elena was already making noises. He guessed they meant 'I'm getting hungry'. He still had to let the water cool, but... He eyed the phone wistfully for now and set to checking if the baby needed changing and then carrying her around until he could finish preparing her food.

It wasn't until she was sleeping, head turned sideways so the soft, chubby cheek was resting against the pillow, that he finally reached for the receiver again. Then stared at it, hesitating.

It wasn't that he didn't have the number. They kept in touch, barely, via e-mail these days. Usually small notes and status updates for holidays or big changes like relocating and such. He wouldn't be calling somewhere from years and years ago that other people now lived.

But they hadn't actually _talked_ in forever.

They never understood, about his preference for men. Not that they had ever listened or paid attention to him in such detail as to be able to connect sufficiently or empathize or anything. There had been a couple of arguments; after that, they'd taken to avoiding the topic.

He'd been young enough to go with that.

Then he'd gone off to college and moved on after that, and with every call or visit the conversations had gotten more and more stilted, every subject becoming an avoidance of what was between them. Eventually, it felt as though any subject was referring to his sexuality or expectations of him that they claimed as biological and he did not want to fight over. So they talked less and less until by the time he met-- until by the time of his exchange semester at Mt. Holyoke, it was down to e-mails. He had a life of his own; he hadn't even called after Eileen disappeared.

But this was a whole new situation. A set of circumstances that changed everything.

The tone came once. Twice. Three times, he could almost imagine her looking at the caller ID and raising her eyebrows at the unexpected number. It would be her picking the phone up, too, not him, never him.

" _Sidney?_ "

"Mom?" His voice broke, and it sounded obscenely young even to his own ears. "Hi, I..." But the carefully considered words he'd almost rehearsed between starting to think about calling her and now fled hid mind. He swallowed, and tried for steady voice - not _quite_ succeeding. "I think I need your help."

To his relief, she didn't start with question about his expectations, or if his preferences had changed, or any other possible comments she might have had. Maybe age had made her wiser; or maybe the way he sounded appealed directly to the fact that she was his mother. Either way, she only hesitated a moment. "What's happened?"

The surge of relief was enough to choke him up. Again. He tried to take a breath to answer and found himself swallowing, dropping into the loveseat, heavily, grasping for words. In the end, he couldn't come up with anything closer to what he needed help with that, "he's gone, mom. He'd dead."

She did fly up to him, of course. Well, no, yesterday he wouldn't have thought of it as _of course_ , but she came.

It was a family thing, and even after all the years she knew him enough to hear, even over the phone, that he considered the baby girl to be family.

The inspection from the state department turned out to be less frightening than he anticipated. Even if the two social services workers came in scowling for him keeping a child, expecting to find the girl abused and unloved, they soon relented in the face of the girl being _obviously_ happy. And him still fretting over how he was doing things, and his mother calm, self-amused, directing him to how things _should_ be done.

They said they might come for surprise visits at other times, too. The threat that was supposed to lurk in that statement was rather dull-edged, by this point.

The actual court hearing was somewhat more complicated. He still had to undergo sanctions for breaking the rules, for not complying with how things were supposed to be done. But in the face of, ah, the reaction from the blood relatives of the girl that the court located and in how Sid himself behaved, the judge had no compunction to rule in favor of continuing the adoption procedure in favor of the stepfather. Well, maybe some. When the case was first laid out before him, he was more than a little surprised when he realized that Sid had been married to Elena's _father_ , not mother.

But he had to accede that it was better for the child to go to a home where she was already loved, rather than wait for the gamble of being adopted by complete strangers. Who, in this state, could also be a same-sex couple.

By the time the required waiting period was through and the whole thing was completed, Sid was barely keeping up with his work and was so very much looking forward to the vacation.

Because Elena was becoming the focus of his life, in a way nobody else had ever been before.

If he ever paused to think of it, he'd realize that not even Daniel had such dedication from him. Love, yes. But this was different.

His, their daughter depended on him and him alone in a way an adult in full hold of his capacities wouldn't. So she became the most important person for him.

And he saw, time and again, that he was the most of _her_ world, too. So even something as tiny of a smile, when coming from her, could make his day.

The morning when he consistently could make her giggle felt like his greatest accomplishment, ever.

 

Elena grew.

For all he had been teaching, in one way or another, since he'd started grad school years and years ago, this was something he was unprepared for. Not the difficulties; the first week or so, even with his mother's help, had let him know it was far from an elementary job to care for a child. Reading, snatched bleary-eyed when the girl was at peace, let him know the highlights of what he was looking forward to.

No, what he was completely unprepared for was the complete _wonder_ of it. He was way too used to dealing with people, youths, who were far already from being children and preferred to think themselves as further yet than they really were. They were in some ways _slightly_ unformed and exploring - but nothing at all like this.

It was a miracle, a bundle of miracles that wound their tendrils among the confusion or busy-ness of everyday life until they were _there_ and he couldn't ignore them. The growth of comprehension as the girl learned about the world through those familiar blue eyes. The increased control over her own body, in tiny little increments that he watched close enough to not miss the marvel they were. The shift from only knowing what to do by guesswork and collateral signs. Smell was very useful, he found, all of a sudden. It had never been a particularly acute sense of his that he'd favored. Moving from vague ideas to actually catching combinations of sounds that _meant_ things, which slowly resolved themselves into actual _words_.

Her first steps.

Some of that was shared joy. His mother was there and helped, and he even could get to work, not breaking his schedule at the university _much_. Any other minute, of course, was Elena's. And then his father had had a stroke, and his mother had gone home to take care of _him_. He'd briefly considered relocating closer to her, then decided against it. He would find a babysitter if need be, but he could do this here.

Thus, much of the miracle was all his own. No, their own, truly; the tiny pale hand all wrapped around a single of his dark fingers and later, two. The blue eyes following him, squeezing with joy when he did something she liked. Her hold on his heart turned unbreakable in mere weeks.

Speech. Trying to figure it out, to develop it, to make it all better, the best for her.

Other children. At walks, meeting other parents, making sure she was socialized, as much as she seemed to like taking. Little playmates and their little tragedies. More and more knowledge; sometimes, it felt like he could practically measure how much more she knew with each day.

Inevitably, one day the questions came. And there was a flood of them. When she reached that point, she seemed like she wanted to know _every_ thing. For a while, he thought smugly that he was better off about answering them because he was used to it from his teaching practice. Within two weeks, he had - in his mind, of course - surrendered the advantage and surrendered to the inevitable. He just replied as best as he could.

It was an evening when the weather had surprised them visiting a neighbor who lived at a walking distance. On their way there the winter day was barely overcast. When they stepped outside to go home, it was a mild snowstorm. They had both enjoyed themselves so much that neither had heard the wind picking up. He'd turned back, murmuring about asking their hostess to give them a lift, when her gloved hand slipped from his and she was out in the building's front yard, twirling and delighted in the snow.

"No, Daddy! Let's play!"

"Elena..."

"Pu-weeeeze?"

In a way, he told himself it was encouraging her to be polite and use the right words. In another, he was too honest to himself not to admit that he'd never been able to refuse anything to Daniel, either, when he'd given him _this_ look. Neither father nor daughter overused it, at least, and he agreed, trying to drown the renewed ache in his chest by getting too busy to feel it.

They were wet through and thoroughly chilled by the time they reached their own house, and he felt a brief twang at the realization that he'd forgotten some of Elena's toys scattered around the front yard. So they got snowed on. He'd deal with that later. Now getting her dry and warm was the most important thing on his mind, and himself, at that.

There were hot showers and dry clothes, and they were snuggled up on the couch under _two_ blankets, a cup of hot cocoa in her hands, when she shot the question which he should have been dreading.

"Daddy? Why's it just us?"

In the hope that she meant something other than what he thought she did, he hummed for her to clarify, eyes carefully on her.

She shrugged, blond locks bouncing lightly. "Most kids have a mommy and a daddy." He took a moment to sigh and prepare himself for that answer, but she took the pause to go right ahead with more questions. "And they... look alike? Mary's mommy has dark skin like you, and so does Mary, and Eric's dad has yellow hair like mine and so does Eric?"

The words startled out of his lips. "Your dad had yellow - it's called blond - hair like you, Elena. It was almost as pretty as yours."

"You are my dad."

He smiled, sadly, but he thought she wouldn't pay attention to that. "But you have a different dad, too. Had. And a mom, although her hair was darker, but her skin was like yours, not like mine."

The small golden brows knitted. After a moment. "Mom?"

Small sigh. "Everybody has a mom, baby, everybody."

"Where is she?"

"Gone." His voice sounded hollow to himself. "Your mom and your dad are gone and won't be back. It is why I adopted you."

"Adopted?"

"It is when somebody who is not a child's parent says that they'll take care of her instead."

Blink. Blink. Looking down, then concentrating on drinking some of the cooling cocoa from her special mug. The silence seemed to stretch, empty of her questions like she was asleep, except she wasn't. He wanted to fill it with something - but he couldn't come up with anything _to_ say.

In a little while, she tilted her head up at him again, blue eyes concentrated in a way that looked a little odd in the face of a child her age. She was just old enough for kindergarten.

But the question came - in fact, it was an imperative. "Tell me."

So he did. Not about the accident, of course. About them. Well, mostly him.

It hurt, at first. Thinking back to the time of a different happiness, one that he could never touch again, not truly touch. But slowly, the gap between _then_ and _now_ was bridged. Because she _loved_ the stories.

One afternoon at the swings, he even heard her telling one of them to a skeptical four-year-old. Who eventually asked, "So... he's not your dad?" pointing at the chocolate-skinned waiting at the bench, a book and a pencil absently in his hands.

Elena frowned, and then jutted her chin up. "Yes, he is!"

"Is not."

She scowled at the offender. "He's my Sid-daddy. My daddy-daddy is gone, and so is my mommy. But he's my Sid-daddy, and he _is too_ my daddy."

Sid sat for a bit, watching them, but somehow, something swelled in him, warm and deep. At how she could accept it all, how she could embrace it and make sense of it without understanding the mechanics of man-and-woman marriages and man-and-man marriages; for her, it was just how things were. He must be doing something right, if she felt good about her family and defended it, mustn't he?

 

It was a Wednesday night. Well, more like early evening, in fact.

The faculty meeting was supposed to run late and he'd made an arrangement with the babysitter but it had dispersed earlier than expected in an intellectuals' version of a brawl. And he was way too angry to just home, not to his five-year-old daughter. Considering that he had time...

The usual place where he met friends was across the town but he didn't feel like driving all the way there. Instead, he stopped to check out a place that looked like it might be decent spotted on his drive home.

It wasn't that he got drunk; he tended not to do that. But he flushed a drink quickly to dull the edges of anger, and then another, barely slower, and then he settled with the third one, looked up around the burning of the scotch dulling the too-sharp corners with its amber fire.

Once in a blue moon, he needed it.

Hell, he'd probably have needed it much more, back five years ago, if he hadn't found himself way too busy for it. And way too busy for looking around himself some.

There was that blond across the bar. As casually alone as he was himself, could be anything, any preference, any reason to be here. Hell, maybe he'd had a snafu at his job, too, and was on his way to his pretty wife and angelic children, why the hell not.

But there was something in the guy's stance, in the way he looked at people, that made Sid's throat tighten in surprise at how much it reminded him of Daniel. And it was probably the alcohol's fault that he walked over, struck up a conversation. And _then_ body signals were difficult to miss, even after years of being out of practice. Either some things didn't change that much with the times, or Eddie, as his name turned out to be, was telegraphing them kind of loud.

He didn't really care, at this point. The dim light made sure that he couldn't see the difference between Eddie's eyes and the clear blue of Daniel's, nor did he care that much for different voice or hairstyle or anything. The kid was available (he did ask) and willing, and even if this wasn't _really_ this kind of a place, he leaned in to press a kiss about the rosy lips when the barman's back was turned.

Sid drove them home, and Eddie had the grace or decency or whatever to keep back and quiet while he got the run-down from the babysitter and saw her off; even stayed discretely out in the living room while he tucked his daughter in. Elena wrinkled her nose at the smell of the alcohol, but hugged him good-night anyway.

Coming out of her room and seeing the blond sprawling on the couch sent a too-long missed thrill through him; they made out right there first, before stumbling back, muffled laughter and moans fading in their wake.

Naked and sweaty was and wasn't like he remembered; and it wasn't the best he'd ever had, but after so long, climaxing ripped through him and he had to find heated lips to stifle his cries. Naked and sweaty and tangled up, Eddie didn't fit against him; he was all elbows and ribs and knees, too sharp and too out of phase.

It was good. But he was glad that the kid was heading back to Nevada in a couple of days, with no real intention of returning.

He made a breakfast for all three of them in the morning; Elena was cranky but polite, and he almost wondered how a five year old could manage _that_ at the same time. He drove her off to kindergarten, then dropped off Eddie at the bar where his rented car was still waiting.

"That wasn't bad."

"You sure you'll not be up for a rematch tomorrow night?"

Sid smiled, and it wasn't even fake. "Thanks, but no. I'm sure you may find somebody who'll oblige who won't be needing a _re_ match, either."

"Maybe." Eddie laughed, but his hand closed slightly over Sid's arm. "I doubt it would be the same, anyway."

Sid was oddly touched by that. It even somehow made dealing with the aftermath of the faculty meeting easier. A little.

It was not enough to help him deal with the contrary mood of his daughter, however.

Neither their efforts during breakfast nor her day at 'school,' her surprised teachers got to tell him, had managed to dispel that. Which was strange, considering how usually it was to cheer her up. It persisted through the afternoon and partway through the dinner.

He almost got to the point of asking her what was wrong - and he had never had to, which meant his confidence of handling a conversation of the sort with a five-year-old was pretty low.

But she broached the subject herself, somehow right as he was hovering on the mental edge of attempting to brave his question.

"So... is Eddie coming back tonight? Is he have to be my daddy?"

" _Does_ he have to be, Elena," his voice corrected softly and habitually as his mind tried to handle what she had just asked. Deep breath, and let's try first to find out where that question came from... it was a start, at least, wasn't it? "Why would you think he would, baby?"

"Well." She shrugged, then lilted. "There's Harper in my group, okay? Her mommy is living alone with her, too. And when people come in the evening, they come again and she has to call them daddy and listen to them like they were her daddy, even when they're..." Nosewrinkle, seeming out of place for her. "Even when she doesn't like them. And since you like daddies, too, I thought... I thought he'll become my daddy." Where, if he understood her mumbling (by that point) correctly, 'he' was Eddie.

He was still blinking a little. But that did explain why she had been distressed, didn't it? Sid sighed and picked her up out of her chair and settled her in his lap, pulling her bowl over to his spot.

"No, baby," he answered first. "He won't be coming again."

"But didn't you _like_ him?"

"... did you?"

She shrugged. "Don't know." Small pause, then shake of her head. "Not much."

Sid ran a hand over his face, trying to ... something. "Either way, he isn't coming back. And what is more, no matter what, no matter who else might come, or if nobody does. There's nobody, not anybody, ever, who will take the place of your daddy-daddy, okay? You'll always have two daddies, and _if_ anybody comes around, he'd be just," he swallowed. "Just somebody I bring home."

The words had made her relax, god, how had she been so worried that somebody would take Daniel's place? But her relief at the reassurance was visible, and he reached up to rub the skinny arm a little. Skinny and skinned, his fingers reminded him; she didn't wince at the touch, but then again, it was light, of course. But it meant this scrape was healing normally. There usually was a scape _some_ where.

"Then... why would they come? Why did Eddie come?"

"Ah." Difficult questions. She had a knack for them and he wondered if that was just her or something she'd gotten from her mother. The thought occurred to him that there had to be something that had gotten Marie to be as insane as she had been, might have been too many things asked? But he brushed it aside, recognizing his mind trying to avoid the question.

He took a deep breath and tried to phrase it as simply as possible, uncertain just how _much_ a five-year-old would understand. For all that she knew enough to even ask. "It... is just. Not easy to be alone?"

"You're not alone!" she scoffed. "You've got me!"

His teeth flashed in a genuine smile at her upturned face. "Of course I do. I meant in the way grown people are with each other. Mommies with daddies or daddies with daddies." And, out of fairness, "and mommies with mommies sometimes, but, well, I can't do that, I'm not a mommy."

That rewarded him with a giggle, and little hand reaching up to tug at his tight, closely-cropped curls. "You'd look _really_ weird with long hair."

"I do." His eyebrows waggled. "I did."

"What?"

"... I'll show you pictures, one day. But." Back to serious. "That kind of alone... usually it's okay. But sometimes..." He shrugged. "Sometimes I feel bad. And... if your daddy-daddy was here, it wouldn't be an issue... it wouldn't be a problem. But he isn't, and neither of us can do anything--" he checked himself. She was still too young for that kind of argument, wasn't she? "Daniel... wouldn't have wanted me to stay unhappy, you know? Wouldn't have wanted me to be alone."

She listened, frowning a little, trying to puzzle this one out. Then, slowly, she nodded. "Well... he wouldn't have, would he?" Small, small expression that wasn't quite a pout, but. "I don't want you to be unhappy either, okay?" He smiled, but she wasn't finished. "But you'd better choose better next time!"

He tried to laugh, but for some reason his throat was all choked up; he just leaned his face down up to kiss her brow.

"I'll try. I promise."

"Good." Decisive nod. She knew what she wanted, his little golden princess. "Now do we finish dinner?"

"Mm-hmm. Want extra peas?"

Nose-wrinkle. "Mmno. Mashed potatoes?"

"Sure."

It was so, so very nice to see her easy and smiling again, it made him absurdly happy. More than the rumple in his bed the night before, even though that had been good.

This was home. Not that he'd doubted it for years, now.

Cleaning up after dinner, after she'd slipped out of his lap and sprawled on the carpet to color, seemed impossibly ordinary after that conversation. The kind of thing he'd do any evening, like nothing had happened.

Not quite any evening, he realized. At the beginning with Elena it was very different, and despite the baby's regime it had seemed different every evening. And before that, he hadn't been alone to do this. God, he missed Daniel.

Sid could recall dinners which went on for way too long because they got distracted talking about something, a book or the latest college policy, bouncing off of each other's thoughts over food drying on their plates. Then they would nudge each other up just to continue talking over putting leftovers away and rinsing dishes. it would dissolve into a routine squabble over how to stack them in the dishwasher. Both ways worked, they knew, and Sid had long ago adopted Daniel's choices.

Other nights they'd both be exhausted and eat quietly, giving the other quiet updates of important occurrences from their day. One would set the electric kettle to boil and they would snuggle against the sink while it heated, only to forget about it, kisses and pressing into the hug, or more, closer to what they needed and wanted than any warm beverage.

Sid's cheeks warmed at that thought even as his heart grew heavier. He could feel the warmth against his chest, the tickle of hair against his throat, and it had nothing to do with last night. Taking a breath to clear his mind, he looked over at Elena, still quiet and a little bit thoughtful on her spot.

She seemed to feel his eyes and looked up. "Joan's letting me help in cleaning the table, you know."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She has me pass her things so she can put them in the fridge or wash them. If I'm careful. She said I can't reach the fridge shelves properly, so that's as much as I can do." Washable market's end taping against her cheek, she added, "kind of like what you do when grannie Lise is visiting. Although you can reach higher than _she_ can."

"I can," Sid ducked his head. "But I'm still the younger and she's my mom and it's easier to do as she says about some things."

" _Some_ things?"

He was distracted, wasn't he. He wasn't up to a second heavy topic tonight, though. "Most things. If _you_ don't agree with something, you try to listen to her, or come talk to me about it."

That answer made her scrunch her face at him, but then she nodded. "I can still help."

"Okay, we'll work something out. Tomorrow. I'm done for tonight."

"Oh, good!" She bounced up, marker falling out of her hand and rolling almost all the way under the couch. "Can we watch a movie now?"

"We may. If I'm allowed to grade papers on my side of the couch."

"Daaaaad..."

"Only a few, I need to finish these. And then you can snuggle."

Heavy sigh. "Well, okay then."

"Thank you." As she started to climb up on the couch, he cleared his throat. "Won't you clear up the coloring things?"

"Oh. Yeah, right."

She was still awake and impatient when he did finish with his work, but then drowsed of snuggle under his arm, her cheek stretching up along his shirt as her head dipped. Sid carried her up to bed and kissed the smooth forehead before going to bed himself.

He still slept on one side of the bed. Reading a little, turning off the light, then rolling around to face the empty half.

Last night hadn't changed anything. Tonight hadn't gone so badly, though, he thought before slipping away.

 

Understanding in the whole situation didn't stay that easy, of course. He didn't expect it to, his own memories from high school only coming up on occasion, but very vividly. Kids who were different were pushed apart, and then pushed around. There was nothing he could do to protect her from all; there never had been such a time. She was born to unmarried parents, her father having a husband. Even if the accident had not happened - and he didn't have her in his life - she still would have been subjected to this all.

As things were, it was going to be even harder.

He practically saw the day when it happened, he knew soon enough after they were both home. Kindergarten where children swapped stories and didn't think them wrong or right was behind them. It was school now, and they were rushing through more and more complicated concepts, in class, at home, and among themselves. It was a day when things should have been very well, she had been excited about something they were going to do.

But she didn't come back home chattering about that, as he had expected. When he asked about it, she answered, and brightened a little, but other than that, for once she talked more about school-school stuff that _wasn't_ what had happened between classes.

And she wouldn't tell him what the matter was.

Since it was _his daughter_ , of course, when he realized that pressing her wouldn't have any positive results, he did what teachers - of one ilk or another - did all over the world. He talked to other teachers. Mainly, those who taught her class the most.

He wasn't particularly happy with the results of the conversation, but at least he knew.

"It isn't anything she's done, definitely. Elena is very good at socializing." Even if Miss Stenn had started when he appeared and then thrown him a couple of sideways glances, he had managed to get her to relax and talk to him. Or it was professional courtesy, or something. "And at her schoolwork, but I am certain you know that part."

Sid nodded, canting his head a bit to one side, a sign for her to go on.

"It is that some of the children have started mocking her. That she is growing up with one parent only," she shrugged in apology; he was pretty certain that the children had not heard that kind of talk from their teachers, actually. "Not having a mother. Your... preferences. Orientation. That you are not even _her_ father, because she is adopted. She doesn't have her parents, she is defective. I try to stop such talk whenever it is possible, you understand, Mr. Emerson, but... there is recess, words in the hallways. One boy started it, a few days ago. And now..."

"Now?" He could see his lips thinning, anger building up. He had known something like that would come, and he couldn't protect her. At all.

It wasn't Stenn's fault, of course. He took a deep breath and motioned her to continue, yes, he was calmer. "Now, some of the children that used to be her close friends are calling her names. She doesn't... at least she doesn't make it worse by getting angry or upset at them, doesn't try to call names back. Sometimes she tries to explain, but..." Small shrug. "She doesn't provoke them in any way, but it makes her unhappy."

"Is there anything I can do?" His voice sounded strained even to his own ears; she shook her head.

"Unfortunately, I don't think so. I am trying to work this out with the children, and if it gets any worse, I, or the headmaster, will talk with their parents. The problem is that..."

"That could just make it worse. I am aware how that works." He took a deep breath, then went on with his questions. "Do you think I should move her to another school? Would that help anything?"

"I don't believe so. You could try, although it would mean uprooting what support she does have still. But... kids will be kids."

"Yeah." Sid closed his eyes, then nodded. "Thank you for your time."

"Any time. If there should be any changes..."

"I'll let you know."

 

Elena wouldn't talk to him about it. Of course. Not even when he asked.

She just lifted her shoulders, and huffed at him how it was all right.

"Baby, it's not all right if they're being mean to you, that's never all right."

"I know _that_. But I can handle it."

"Elena..." She shrugged. "There must be something I can--"

"You can't help it, daddy. It's how things are, you know? I know that you're worried," and for a moment he saw exactly how sensible a ten year old she was, "but... I don't _want_ you to change, don't want us to be anything other than what we are, you know? Besides, it wouldn't matter, it would just be all the same."

Sid swallowed. And when he could find his words, his voice was soft. "It's not all the same to me. Not that you think things are... that way."

"Well, they are. They don't understand, and whatever, that's..." she shrugged again, but he could see the hurt in the blue eyes. But she swallowed it. "We are how we are. They don't like it. _They_ don't get it, and I don't think they are right."

"No, baby. They aren't."

She shrugged again, tucked her chin down, busied her hands with her pen. "Can I go back to homework now?"

He almost winced. "If that is what you want..."

Another shrug, this time somewhat more sullen. He leaned down to kiss the top of her head, lingering somewhat; she sighed, but didn't move away. He rubbed her shoulder, too, then did leave her alone, stopping her door ajar and settling on his own bed. To read, ostensibly, but also awake in case she changed her mind and called for him.

No, he decided. She probably wouldn't. The words that she'd said, the words that she meant. They made a difference to him, but didn't seem to change anything for her. That worried him.

And, like the rest of the situation, he didn't know what to do about that.

 

It was when she came home still crying that the words made more difference.

"Elena? Wait, wait kiddo, what happened?"

She tossed her backpack on the sofa and looked up in the direction of her room before flopping on the armchair and drawing her legs up, catching the heels of her shoes on the edge of the seat and slipping them off. "Nothing." The back of her hand rubbed at her eyes, but that didn't seem to slow down the tears.

"That certainly doesn't ... look like it feels like nothing." He set down the flower spray aside and came closer, picking the box of tissues on his way. "Did you trip and fall and hurt yourself?" Blond hair flying as she shook her head. "Did anybody hit you?"

"No." Nasal, and shaky, and so much not like her.

"Did somebody _say_ something to you?" Small shoulders twitched up in a shrug, and now she definitely wouldn't look at him as he sat on the arm of the chair, leg safely propped so that the heavy piece wouldn't overbalance. "At school? I asked your teacher--"

"No. She makes sure they get told off if they try to say such things at school. Other teachers agree and help her, too. So they just look or sometimes trip me or mess up with my stuff. If they won't be caught."

"Then..."

"On the bus. But--" She rubbed at her eyes again, leaning forward against her legs and pressing her mouth to the slim arm across her knees.

Sid had to wait a moment to make sure his voice was careful and gentle, rather than angry. Because he was angry; this was his little girl that they insulted or hurt, and he was _pissed_. Eventually, he nudged for more. "But what, baby?"

The little pink lip quivered as she still tried to keep it in.

"Are you trying to protect somebody, baby? I wouldn't do anything bad, I promise, but I don't see why you would want to--"

"No! I don't want to p-protect them," she sniffled. "I just want them to understand, okay? Understand how they just shouldn't talk like that!"

"Like what, baby?"

"That it's all wrong," and now she was sobbing again. "It's not all wrong! It can't be all wrong, even if your skin is dark and mine isn't, even if you and I are different, or you are different from many of their parents, it can't be wrong, because I love you so much, and it doesn't matter, it doesn't, it doesn't matter if you like men or women, and it's none of their business anyway, and who _says_ one or the other is better or worse?"

Elena was shaking now, and Sid just slipped his arms around her and tugged her closer, and she turned to cry into his him, little fists grabbing at his shirt, the side and the sleeve, as he hugged her tight. "I love you, too, baby. I love you, too. Always will." Quiet words, he wasn't even fully aware what he was saying, but he wanted to tell her. To reassure her, to take some of it away. "Won't ever change, no matter what anybody says. It's okay, baby. It's okay. You're my daughter, my baby, and I'll always be here. No matter what."

It didn't make it okay. And he knew it didn't, because tomorrow, or the day after, and many days after that, she'd hear the same, or worse. And it would still hurt her, it couldn't not, because words against the things that mattered to one always hurt.

But it still made it better. He could see her fists let go, and her face soften. See the nod, and feel the sobs, the crying taper out. Little by little, she curled up against him, and just stayed like that, and his big fingers threaded through the soft blond strands.

It was a quiet conversation, then. She asked, after she had calmed down. Why did they think that way. She'd never asked before that. And he told her some of the arguments - the most frequent ones, at least, the loudest ones.

And also the counterarguments that usually went for those.

And also his own thoughts on them.

Elena listened, and asked questions, the blue eyes, still so much like Daniel's slowly drying, clearing. Livening up, this time with interest and thought and irritation or anger. Understanding.

When he realized it had gotten dark enough that they needed to turn on the light, he stroked her cheek lightly with the pad of his thumb. "Do you want me to write you a note and not go to school tomorrow? If you don't want to go with your homework not ready..."

Her head popped up, as though she'd totally forgotten about things like that. Then she frowned, or he thought she did, in the faint light. "But won't that look like I'm hiding from them?"

"You'll know you won't be hiding..."

She shook her head, interrupting him. "I'll do my homework. I can finish it after dinner. And I'll be there at school tomorrow, because I won't let them win, not even once."

Sid leaned over to kiss the top of her hair. "Anything you wish, baby."

But he could feel the corners of his mouth tugging up, a fierce pride swelling in his throat so much that he probably didn't quite manage to keep it from his voice.

A blink, and she'd slipped out of the armchair, turned on the light, and thudding up the stairs to her room to get started on things.

He shook his head - and put on his apron to throw dinner together.

For tonight, the omelets she loved would be perfect.

 

Four days later, and Elena was doing better.

She was positively hyper, excited, and, as far as Sid could tell, happy. Running around the house getting something or other of her own together, in between lunch (which had happened after the morning bout of playing out on the street which she'd almost not gone out to) and dashing out again. Blond stands bouncing as she stripped off her hoodie, too warm for it, blue eyes bright and laughter ringing.

He looked up at her, his own smile flashing back, until his eyes widened and his breath hissed out when he caught sight of a large bruise-and-scrape on the side of her arm, dark and angry against her pale skin under the sleeve of her T-shirt.

The omnipresent scraped had left, back when she'd turned about seven.

"Elena." He was already rising from the couch and tried for calm voice, but by the way she looked at him, suddenly alarmed, he didn't make a too-good job of it. "I'm sorry, baby, don't be scared. But ...did somebody rough you up? What happened?"

"Oh." Blue eyes lowered to the offending thing, but the shrug was completely unconcerned, rather than pretending to be so. "It's nothing. I mean, Mary and Doyle and Elie tried to get to me away from school and grown-ups or something, after the other day on the bus. And I was telling them they would get into trouble, but they said they didn't care, although I'll tell Miss Stenn about it on Monday. They're very serious at school about us telling when something like that happens, _even_ if we're threatened that worse will happen if we do." Her voice took on a different, more nasal tone. "We can't stop it from happening if you don't tell us. And even if it doesn't seem so, it would be for your protection." The girl giggled at her own imitation of, he guessed, the headmaster.

"They're not supposed to hurt you, baby. Let me know ... yes, you said who it was, I'll talk with their parents, too."

"If you want? But it's okay. They were pushing me to tell them if I was gay, too, and how can I be anything when I'm just a kid? And I was laughing at then they pushed me at the wall, but then Chris and Andrew from down the street came by. And Andrew is _eleven_ ," a respectable age, all of one year or so older, "and he asked what he was going on. So Mary told him how I was raised by," another imitation, although her face screwed up at this one, "a black cuckold whose fag screwed a woman and then didn't stick around for either--"

Sid could hear his teeth grinding against each other, at that.

"-- and then I yelled that wasn't how things were, and Andrew said that she shouldn't say things like that, those were bad words, and asked me about how things _were_ , and Mary and Elie tried to interrupt me but I did, and Doyle was already kind of slinking towards the wall, you know? And then Andrew glared at them and told them to leave me alone and that they didn't get what things were like at all, and the would one day if they grow up, but he wasn't sure they could, and Chris just came to me and hugged me and said she didn't know that my mom and dad-dad were dead and she was sorry and they were going down to the playground and did I want to go with them? And can I go with them in the afternoon, too?"

He was trying not to shake with worry about what _might_ have happened. So close to home, their home. To his daughter. "So long as you won't be alone..."

She shook her head. "No, nonono. They are _awesome_. And even if Chris is one year after me, she's smart and has read different interesting things and has all these stories to tell, and Andrew is just awesome, and I like them! And they like me, not just ... like faces to play skipping rope with or such. Play together!"

"Didn't you have children to play together with before?"

"Sure I did! Andrew and Chris just live down the end of the street, further away. And they are more interesting!"

"Okay, okay, you may go out with them." She gave a delighted squeak and hugged him. He took a breath, and asked, "do Mary and Elie live near here, too?"

"Not really? Well, not too far away, but they don't usually come here."

"... good. I want you to listen very carefully, and tell the same to Chris _and_ Andrew. If you see them around again, just get back home. Or come to me if I'm out. Don't stay alone around any of them."

"Okay?" she shrugged, like it was just one of those grown-up things.

"I mean it, baby. You'll do that for me, Elena?"

"'Course I will, daddy."

"Good." He pulled her in a hug, and could feel her smile against his shoulder, hugging him back. Her arms didn't reach around his body yet, although she was getting closer. She was so very much too young for this kind of thing...

Then again, who wasn't too young for it?

"Know what? Ask Andrew and Chris if they want to sometimes come hang around with you here? I'd like to meet them, and you can show them your things--"

He barely got there before she squealed in excitement. "REALLY? Oh, I'd _love_ that, daddy! Love love love it! And I can show off how awesome you cook, too, nobody _ever_ believes me when I tell them!"

"Really?"

"Really! I'll ask them when I see them again!"

She wiggled out of his hold and set off to finish what she'd been doing in the first place. Sid sat back on the couch, rubbing his face with a hand, trying to get a grip on the fear. It had been scary enough when he'd been getting looks and words for how he'd been, back in school.

It was terrifying when it was his baby girl. Daniel's baby girl, and a pang shot through him because he had never asked about that, if his husband had had that kind of experience in school. Roughed up, pushed around because of liking guys. Maybe it had been easier for him, because he liked girls, too. Or not. He didn't know.

Elena's head popped through the door frame to ask him something, and he forced himself to smile and answer calmly. He'd talk with parents. Andrew and Chris's, at the very least. He'd talk with Stenn and ask if contacting the three children's parents would do any good. Or if he had to, in fact, make sure she didn't go to school with those three anymore.

The good thing was that she had people who would stick up with her. God, let her keep on having that. Please.

Please.

 

As he waited for her to come home that evening, his mind wandered back. To her first day in first grade. He remembered it way too well, much better than any of his own first days at school, any school, in either position. Well, not the day _at_ the school, since it wasn't his, he'd mostly dropped her off and then picked her up.

Getting there. The way the car smelled and the way light reflected off her sunshades onto the dashboard the color that Daniel's last doodles on the old map (still tucked away safely and used regularly) had been. The way those reflections played back and forth, because Elena fidgeted in the passenger's seat.

"Nervous?"

He must have smiled sideways to her because he caught her answering smile as he turned his eyes back to the road, and his lips tugged up higher. "No, not too much. It's just school, and everybody either goes to school or _used_ to go to school, right? Shouldn't be that difficult." Sid's eyebrows rose, which she seemed to note, because she added, "what?"

"It's not necessarily quite _that_ simple. I mean, it's all those years, and many people, and learning a lot. And I'm guessing that you actually kind of know that."

"Why?"

"You're still fidgeting."

"Am not!"

He reached from the speed stick to run a finger along the back of her hand which was still trying to worry the edge of the lining of her seat loose. "What's this, then?"

"Nothing." Both hands now went in her lap. Ten seconds, and they were crossed in front of her chest.

"Elena..." Softly. "You can tell me what the matter is, you know?"

"Okay."

"So?" Now he could look at her, first in line on the red light and a good half minute until it turned. The pale blond brows were drawn over blue eyes, then she tossed her head a bit. "What is it, baby girl?"

"Nothing." Silence, and just after he'd started moving, more words. "Just... You know. I'll be all... busier and everything. And have things to learn. But can we _still_ make piles of dead leaves in the yard and jump on them? Together?"

Sid had to blink at that. It... Mmm, think later, answer now. "The leaves haven't even really started turning yet, let alone falling, you realize."

"Doesn't matter. I still want to. Because it's our thing, you know?"

"Yes, baby. I know."

"So, can we?"

"Of course."

 _That_ looked like the sun had risen on her face, and his chest twinged, a bit, at how little it could take (how little it had taken). "Promise?"

"Definitely. I promise."

"Awesome!"

The fidgeting changed, after that. Transformed into her normal cheerful way, chattering - almost chirping - about what she was looking forward to at school and what she was going to do and meet, and asking him if he knew who'd be there. Her excitement replaced the worry and built up until she almost bounced out of the car and towards the building.

Then she turned her head and gave him a bright radiant crooked grin over her shoulder. Just for him; it looked so odd on the tiny face. It was completely her father's grin, from the curve of her lips to how much of the blue of her eyes showed even despite the distance, and he gasped for A moment, wide-eyed at her back. Had to shake his head and lock the car and follow, make sure all the formalities for the first day were met and whatever else required his presence, but inside, his heart was tearing itself down again.

And yet...

It hurt, hurt like hell. But he also knew, beyond doubt, that he'd do anything to keep trying to get that grin to appear again, and again. And he also knew that she wouldn't keep anything important away from him, any more than her father would. God, he missed Daniel. Right then, though, he also knew he had something else, now, and, much as the thought pained him, he wouldn't trade it away. Not for anything.

It really began with a smile. All of it. The future, especially, and in this future, the future he'd thought of that day, the sky was the limit - and a temporary one, at that.

Sid leaned against the glass of the kitchen window, watching his daughter skip closer with her new friends, his heart tight again.

They'd find a way to keep things like that, he promised. Himself, Elena, Daniel. Even Marie, although the thought of her made his teeth clench once more. He'd take their daughter to a new school, if he had to, he'd figure it out.

The smile on her face would stay real, and grace things for a long time.


End file.
